It
When the days blur
and heavy is the air,
you'll cry out for help
but it will still be there.
It's the monster, howling
feeding off your very existence,
taking everything you love
no matter how much resistance.
It's the nightmare, creeping
underneath your very bed,
breathing down your neck
planting dark thoughts in your head.
It's the volcano, erupting
spitting out your very life,
chuckling at the thought
of giving you more strife.
Yes, when the days blur
and heavy is the air,
you'll cry out for help
but it will still be there.
YOU ARE READING
The Moon, Sun and Ice Cream
PoetrySo this is just a group of poems I put together. Some are really old, some I will write the day I post them. You're welcome to criticize my work, and give it to me straight. You're also just welcome to read. So, without further ado......
