Im sorry.
I can't breathe. There's a bolder on my chest that can't be lifted by physical hands. Because the deepest scars aren't created by physical objects.
I'm sorry.
The first domino has fallen just like a knew it would. The blanket she ordered to shield our eyes has arrived, and like a coward I'm wearing it.
But my ears. They can still hear the mumbling of truths around me. Because even though it temporarily shields my eyes from the truth, it can't stop the low whispers that the night always seems to have in store.
I'm sorry.
Why is everyone more emotional than I am?
I'm sorry.
Why does that sentence keep repeating?
I'm sorry.
Just another part of the shadow's waiting.
I'm sorry.
Countless eerie nights filled with nothing but whispering shadows. Shadows waiting for the sun to be revealed.
Waiting for the next domino to fall.
I'm sorry.
Thoughts of the future paint in my head like a bad dream that even the morning sun can't shake.
I'm sorry.
It almost feels like I'm in a bubble, waiting for just the right amount of wind to blow and my body to fall.
I'm sorry.
But whose gonna catch me?
YOU ARE READING
Disquieting Thoughts
PoetryI started this "book" when I was quite younger and the first few chapters reflect that. I'm going to go and edit them eventually but right now, it's a part of my past when my only problem was boys and I don't want to delete that piece of my innocen...
