Life has worn the poor man thin,
He can barely see the light.
He spends each single day alone,
In a solitary fight.
The anxiety of his heart,
Is toxic and powerful.
It screams through all his bones,
A suffocation, cruel.
Living on the edge,
Has burnt out all his joy.
He no longer seeks the pain of wit,
His smile is a decoy.
Wishing to be truly free,
He packs up all his bags,
And takes a respite, holiday.
He won't be coming back.
YOU ARE READING
Stoneheart
PoetryA collection of poems about my coming of age, family and identity struggles and my battle with anxiety and depression as a youth.
