the miserable life of a miserable teenager -
last sip
The baby pictures that stare me down.
Clinging onto any part of me I can replace.
Hard to see through the lies.
And depression.
Who was she?
She loved colours, not just black.
She did her schoolwork, not even rushed.
She smiled, not even out of curtesy.
She hoped, not just for death.
God, I miss her.
There’s an unbreakable lock on her cage.
No matter how hard I try,
I’m only left with the last sip of myself.
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