Free
I want to be free, with the birds and the bees,
Singing my offkey remedy
Of their beautiful melody.
Let me fly
High above the sometimes gray but more often blue sky,
Let me soar along with the wind,
Each gale sweeping me closer and closer towards the brink.
Isn’t that cliche?
So ing cliche,
But that’s me.
Every suicidal teenager labeled as an attention whore and angsty
Sitting alone in their room falling apart where no one can see.
It’s been three years now
Of falling down a hole with no end in sight,
Each moment getting closer to the day I take flight.
My blood I pour down my bathtub from time to time,
Is like looking at the brochure for an upcoming trip, getting more and more excited with each of these passing rhymes.
Soon you’ll see,
That my contagious laugh and wide grin spread across my face
Was the cloak concealing my inevitable fate.
Copyright © Emily Backoo | Year Posted 2020
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