I vent to pen and paper
I repent then begin with vapors
Im sitting on the edge of consciousness swinging my feet as I admire whats down below
Nights when I screamed in my pillow
When I couldn't bear unhappiness any longer
When I was tired of holding the world upon my shoulders
Pushing beside boulders
None of these acts made me stronger
My presence never lingers
My grip on life is weakening at my thin fingers
// e.b.
YOU ARE READING
THE FUNDAMENTALS OF A REALIST
PoetryA collection of my thoughts in poems that reflects my life before, after, and during being associated with my first love as well as my creative impulses. a poetic photograph of May 2015- October 2015. ***BEWARE PROFANITY***
