No cracks for me to crawl in. Every corner I lean into sinks into nothingness. There are no crutches for me, here. I keep trying to lay down but these beds never stay warm. I keep running from collapsing stairs and realize that they aren't just collapsing from behind, but from the front, as well. So I'm running from the truth. Something that can't be stopped. I'm running from what I'm supposed to be. I just know it. When the stairs are done deleting themselves I'll be falling. But no, I won't be falling to my doom. The situation won't be out of my control. I will be falling into place. Everything will feel right and everyone will tell me I'm wrong. They will rain on me, and I will become a titanium rooftop. I won't disagree with them, but neither will I change my position to better suit their perception. They'll call me sickly. My new "affliction" will kill their preconceptions. After a while, some of them will begin sneezing along with me, but nothing will be stopped up. They'll feel like a shotgun house with all of the doors and windows open on a breezy spring day. And now I know. And now I accept it. Eat from the Tree of Knowledge but don't cloth yourself. This is how it should be. You can't hide, now.
YOU ARE READING
Very Witty Title
PoetryThis will be a collection of poems that I have written. Some of them are poems I wrote in class when I was bored. Some of them will be poems I wrote at home when I should've been doing my chores. Some of them will be things I wrote because of my dee...
