“How many shitty poems does if take till I can finally write a decent one again?
I tried smoking cigarettes thinking that it would help. All they left me with was a bad headache and nausea I can’t kick. I guess this is what I get for leaving the things I love on a shelf. Talents don’t stay around long when you give up on them. I was just tired of writing his name that even looking at my notebook made my head spin.
My poetry became my own poison.
It was self-destruction in the simplest form.
I start to wonder what is going to kill me first.
The cigarettes or all the built up words stuck in my throat.”
Via - ( @unknown-taylor )
good morning belle