It feels like I'm right on the edge
of conceptually everything.
Then just as the man on the ledge did,
I plummet into an ear-piercing silence.
My infatuation is a temporary illusion
and the cunning corners of my mind
get lost in ignorant agony.
I just want to know what began at the end
with the man on the ledge.
YOU ARE READING
My Brain of Little Fires
PoésieThis is a collection of feelings from all the times I thought my world was burning down. They are now just little fires that warm the embers of my mind and serve to remind me that I am human, and I will die.
