Everything feels wrong, though I'm not sure when things have ever felt right.
Have I always been hanging precariously on the edge, living only half a life?
Unable to go back, yet afraid to move further towards the end,
so scared of the fall below that I spend
all my time stagnant.
Doing nothing, being nothing.
A shell of a person with a life unfulfilled;
stunted by fear and overcome with regret.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts from my brain
PoesiaIt's poetic, in a way. This is a mixture of poems and short passages. I'm writing these for myself, I guess, as a way to collect my thought, but I hope you enjoy the little pieces of me you read.
