They say that good things take time, but this feels like too long. Maybe my good thing died or maybe I'm almost there, but please hurry up because I'm losing my grip on this careful string. This string people call life is shaped like a noose and I think it may really be a rope. I'm losing my grip and soon my throat with take its place in the knot and I don't know if anyone can save me. There's a light but it's ever fading, and drawing near it is not.
Everyone around me is shrouded in light. Where is mine? Where is mine? Maybe I wasn't watching and it was swallowed by the ever growing blackness in my heart. They say that darkness cannot exist in light, if that is true then I may be a black hole consuming everything I touch. I see people's smiles, I feel their laughter. So why can I not produce one of my one? Feel my own?
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Recollections Of My Insanity
PuisiHere are some poems I've written about happenings in my life that push me to write and pull me from life.
