My fault
A scratch.
A pinch.
A scrape.
A cut.
A turned up feeling,
In my gut.
The pain.
The horror.
The sadness.
The sickness.
Inside all this,
Scumness.
Useless.
Unbearable.
N aughty.
Mean.
All the things I feel,
Are obscene.
Dangerous.
Stupid.
Manipula tive.
Psychotic.
Any mental illness there is,
I'm quite sure I got it.
Bleeding.
Crying.
Blaming.
Up set.
Over all the things,
I sure can't forget.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
I open my eyes,
'Is it over yet? '
poem by Heather Noble
Added by Poetry Lover
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