Honestly, I scrawled ‘I am a mistake’ on my left forearm

And ‘unlovable’ I inked upon my right.

The pain enveloped within each tick of the clock is here to

And I wish for death to claim me before the night.

The tears I shed contain the hope I feel,

And I suppose low tide is near.

I know my broken heart won’t heal.

A lonely life I fear.

I carry this love like an old story that’s withered with age.

Light as it has become from wear and tear,

To you, I’m just some unhinged page,

Forgotten, unwanted,  broken and bare.