Wanting to cry out.
Wanting to scream.
Wanting to speak.
Can't breathe.
When did air become the enemy?
When did a heartbeat hurt so much?
When did life become unappealing?
When did I want to stop living?
Silent as a grave.
Thoughts churning around.
Want to say something but nothing comes out.
Throat full of glass.
Can't tell you I'm not what I seem.
How can a person's life be worth so much to others yet worthless to yourself?
How long can you keep going before your memories are placed on a shelf?
How long before you can breathe again without fighting for your life to make sense?
As silent as the Grave we sit and wait.
Waiting for something or someone to decide our fate.
Can't speak.
Can't scream.
Can't shout.
Not sure if I'll find a way out.
YOU ARE READING
Ripples in an Obsidian Sky
PuisiThese are many of the poems that get stuck in my head randomly, almost like a song or beat poetry in a way. I must warn you, most of them can be rather dark or sad. But I find solace in writing them. Anyway, maybe they can help you get some peace t...
