Worse

The day that I

Held hands with death;

That is, realized what

Was going to become of me,

Was the day, where I

Lost all of my original fears.

Over the years,

Which weren’t many,

But were definitely enough,

I grew accustomed to tears.

I realized what it meant

To cry into your own

Wet, isolated pillow. I mean,

Even after the crying,

Which at the time,

Felt like the easiest night so far,

Of he nightmare

There was more to come.

What do you do with yourself?

When you no longer want to breathe?

You learned to adjust;

Its never your own

World, you own earth,

But after time, slowly

You realize even the worst of times,

Somebody always has it worse. 

Reviews

[Ashley]

I absolutely love this poem and you worded it in such a perfect way. I feel the exact same way whenever I feel at my worse.