she stands on the precipice, hovering.
feels the wind, upon her face
"its a far way down,"
comes a faraway thought
would it be like flying? would it taste like freedom, or a intractable contrite?
would the wind rush past me as i
free fall, diving deep into six feet, or
would it be like sinking, a sort of murkiness
as i flail breathlessly?
"life is a comedy," she narrates,
"and i am but a mere extra with two lines."
a puppet on strings, set to dance and dance
forevermore
until my feet bleed worthless.
would it be selfish of me to try to
cut the noose loose and turn away?
from familiarity, from orthodoxy?
i cut, and i bleed.
i don't want to live, but
i don't want to die.
what's in between?
a purgatory above.
23/3/22
YOU ARE READING
《headspace》
Poetrysometimes, the world gets too much and i can't help but feel inundated. so i cope in a way where the words flow uninhibited and my thoughts run free. this is a graveyard, and herein lies all the things that i can never say aloud. poetry by astoria_...
