It hurts.
The tempest of raging emotions.
It is all inside of me.
And it hurts.
The ravine below is calling.
Come, it will end soon.
Come to me.
The autumn air is encouraging.
Crisp across my bare arms.
Then I jump.
And I am flying
Flying towards my hope.
No.
No. Please.
And my stomach drops.
And I am falling.
Falling
And they are laughing.
The ravine,
the autumn air.
They are only the sirens
that lead me to believe,
that I could fly
But now,
I
am
Falling
YOU ARE READING
Oleander-COMPLETED
PoesíaALL RIGHTS RESERVED Her words were like oleander flowers, so delicate, like a gossamer spider string, but poisonous, like her scarred, despondent heart. *in other words, my crap poetry that is still really important to me*
