Your favorite place in the world
where splotches of light
bloom in yellow patches
across the dull carpet.
You love to lay down
on your back
and feel your face illuminate,
even though you know
that the light may burn you
if you overstay your welcome.
What happens
when the light no longer
comes trickling in
through the glass windows?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from the Abyss
PoetryThis is just a compilation of all the poetry that I've written throughout the course of a few years. Feel free to read it, or don't. It's up to you.
