feels weird to talk about what i do
its not like what i used to talk about
or even in the style i used to write
its funny to think who still reads these, if any
or if it looks like a madman rambled on these pages
scribbles that depict a scene of utter disarray in my mind
i wonder if anyone gets what i say most of the time
or if even the prospect of understanding is locked
behind the idea that im sane in the first place
if my spiral can even look like a line with a curve
if the shadows see me as a monster, a trainwreck
if the words coming out of my mouth are real at all
it all seems unreal
and maybe its just my mind playing tricks on me
but every moment i wonder
if ive already gone off the deep end
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
