Early Poetry

A couple of poems I wrote while having a minor break down.

Itching


Sometimes it itches

The skin around my flesh

My nails are long and sharp

Could I tear it off?

Tear off the skin,

Tear out the eyes

Let the blood run free

Perhaps then finally

There will be rest for me



Grey


People are all around

Talking, walking, feeling

I used to think there were two ways

Good and bad

But the color grey floods the world

Cement, stone, metal

How do you choose sides in a world that is grey?