i would like very much to
live in a small hole in the ground
like a mole
a small hole
for an even smaller mole
maybe dug into the side of a hill
and i will close off the entrance
to keep out the chill of the winters,
heat of the summers
no one would know, but please tell my mother
i'm sorry, i'm sorry
but it had to be done
because when you can't run from the
invisible weight of the world
teetering on your shoulder blades
just smother yourself with dirt
bury yourself alive
so at least then you know where the
suffocation is coming from
because when i can feel my stomach
being pulled out through my lips
and forced back down again
whenever its decided so
i'd at least like to know
who's responsible
so i can thank them for giving me
a gag reflex crafted from steel
and the artistry to construct a
creative, well-rounded list of a thousand and one
ways i could die
i've learned that when fire and ice combine
they don't divide,
they multiply
two extremes don't cancel
they intensify
and yes there's something
bringing the cold
but oh i bring the burn
if i was a mole
in the side of a hill i wouldn't
seek that same masochistic thrill that
keeps my human heart humming
human mind numbing
someone please help me, i think i'm becoming
insignificant again
that's the third time today
a mole wouldn't cry when
asked of its day
when i was little i was told
i had an excellent imagination
who ever would have guessed
i'd use it in the creation
of my own personal hell
where everything's my fault
and no matter how small i get
i always take up too much space
while at the same time taking up
no space
because have you ever thought about
how big space is
everyone's so small
but i'm the biggest small of them all
not if i was a mole in the side of a hill
with neither the heat
nor the chill
it's quiet
and cosy
but really, that's silly and
i don't suppose we
could come to some sort of agreement
for there's lives to be lived
business to conduct
there's moments to experience
and there's nothing to discuss
things to think too much
everything to think too much
i always think too much
~Savannah Brown~
YOU ARE READING
hollow
PoetryI don't know what this is. It's poems that I have written. It's poems that I didn't write. It's old poems. It's new poems. It's happy poems. It's sad poems... Actually, just mainly sad poems.
