I have been left here to die.
To drown.
Sink down
into my third eye.
They call the vision a blessing,
but it tangles me in a haunting precision.
I am being controlled, and I'm not me.
It eats me up.
It keeps me from being lucid.
It drives me away from being free.
I am so stupid
to drown.
Sink down.
In compulsive choices.
All because of the whispering voices.
YOU ARE READING
Maeve's Poetry
PoesíaThis is a bundle of my poems. Yes, those I write too. Feedback is always allowed! These poems may not be pretty, and some may be. These poems are the plump heart to darkness and light. Red, and grim, but still beating, and now in your hand, I give y...
