Written 2/6/18
There's an edge I find myself at,
toes breaking off pebbles
that fall into thick fog.
Fog that consumes
and rarely regurgitates.
I've stared into this abyss
many times before,
found a home inside of darkness,
let it rest on the walls
of my vital organs
and sweetly corrode my hopes and dreams.
At this edge once more,
swaying for the knowledge I now have,
threatening to push me over,
I see a monster rising.
v.e.s.
YOU ARE READING
Cardboard Lungs
Poetry"Demons floating in my morning cereal." "Ink isn't the only thing bleeding tonight." A collection of my poetry. *I do not promote self harm or any other negative coping skills. My poetry is my outlet for preventing those actions in my own life, so I...
