I'd always talk about that place.
                              The line.
                              The edge.
                              I'd say I felt too close.
                              I didn't want to step off.
                              But the days are long.
                              And they seem to drag.
                              They hurt.
                              And I want them to stop.
                              I felt myself getting closer.
                              You said you were proud that I hadn't gone over.
                              But how will you feel
                              When I tell you it feels like I have?
                              You might 
                              Hate me.
                              Resent me.
                              Be disappointed. 
                              How can I face that?
                              But it's too late.
                              I've stepped over the edge.
                              And I've shattered.
                              I'm broken.
                                      
                                          
                                  
                                              YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
PoetryMy thoughts tend to form like poems, so I figured I'd share them- part of me hoping they make sense to more than just myself.
