is your ceiling bored
of endlessly watching you
typing messages
you'll never send
sitting alone
thinking in sorrows
wondering about feelings
warnings of those dead
was one breakup enough?
can't believe
your ceiling gets to watch
as you rip yourself
piece from piece
disturbing its own peace
wriggling around a field of fleece
the wonders and awes are niche
quietly wrapped in green
glistening in the moonlight sheen
caught in the jaws of pain
and the claws of lies
turning, struggling
further into its arms.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
