senior year-oct.7:19

My pen Is dehydrated, and decomposing Unconcerned My lungs Are thinning under Pressured air and a pollutant cocktail I've snapped so many pencils over this Snapped so many pencils over my head Debris in my hair, no breeze in the air No point to my sword, there's no point and i'm bored Wrist scars rip open at the seams Chopping off my own limbs in my dreams Terrified of death and tormented in my sleep Stalling out in a stall, At this rate i'll lose all Salt in my body Gotta stop crying, god i feel so weak