Morning comes with the blaring of an alarm; You make your way downstairs, yawning. It's quiet today, the only sound your footsteps and your overactive mind. The house is dark- nobody is awake but your brother, and it makes the footsteps that much louder.
You find in the morning, emotions are less numb. They lurk in the corners of your consciousness. It's hard to feel sane in the morning, when sounds are so much louder, achy limbs echoing your mind. A night of rest seems to make you more tired somehow; thoughts overtake any peace you might have felt.
YOU ARE READING
Ode to Life
PoetryIt's chaos to figure out how to live. To love yourself, to love others, to create, to destroy. It's just life. But maybe... just life isn't a bad thing? You can't have good without the ugly. This has all my poems combined, this'll be my only poetry...
