A darkly lit room drips
With the essence of people's
Darkness, black puddles,
Clear as day, scatter the floors.
The long, skinny room is cramped
With shelves choked full of
Broken dreams and abandoned hearts;
The only people left to want such
Broken things are the ones
With a cosmically clear head -
The ones who have been drenched
In the same darkness -
Abandoned themselves,
Healed themselves,
And have come out the other side
With scars they wear
Like trophies.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of the Deep
PoetryA collection of poetry I've written over the years dealing with my journey through depression and self-harm. It's a mental health journey. (Also, I've Updated the cover! Final Edition) Trigger warning: lots of my writing is a bit dark - deals wit...
