It feels like I'm stuck in a huge statue trying to escape, my bones have become stone making it harder to breathe. This stone is a suffocating piece, such as the air dying in this moonscape. The light when the darkness appears seems to not break what lies underneath.
Maybe I'm the statue of freedom that doesn't exist in this dreadful world, but no I'm just another piece in our land that was simply swirled.
Why can't I move without something strangling a certain habit, or rather someone telling me I'm nothing more than a symbol of death. Everyone who looks at the statue just wants to grab it, merely to feel it in depth.
Today, the statue cries as she feels non-stop swinging at her precious stone, she's slowly crumbling into tiny pebbles as they disappear into the unknown. Her title has changed from freedom to captivity, revealing every single terrible human activity.
YOU ARE READING
Embers of Endurance
PoetryAn original poetry book by me. About my life and what it came to be.
