dual depth and height, arching up and down, as far and farther than we can see. the twinkling beauty of those millions of lights at the end of the tunnel, staring down, showing us all each and every outlet or path. warmth creeping its way past the ground, climbing out of its grave each morning and being buried again each evening. thousands of little somethings making noise, as if to remind us that even when everything else is dark, and the doorway out seems too far up to reach, there is always someone there, even if they can be heard, but not seen. and yes, those lights do seem past our reach. no matter how far away they look, how high we think we must pull ourselves or how low we must fall, we will get to them someday.
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desolation
Poetrydes·o·la·tion ˌdesəˈlāSH(ə)n/ noun a state of complete emptiness or destruction. anguished misery or loneliness. just a book of my inner thoughts, feelings, and observations TRIGGER WARNING: may include eating disorders, self harm, alcoholism, suici...
