I wake up, look down
And notice a small hole in my chest
It's dark, it's round
It goes up and down with my breathing
Harmless it seems
I go to school, and the hole begins to go
Up and down, up and down, like a piston
It grows, turns black
Black as the ink that spills on my paper
And at lunch, with my friends that talk
And about SATs, ACTs, college, and prep
The hole devours my chest
As I smile and nod, clenching my fist
And when I head home,
And skip dinner
Because I have English, history notes, cello lessons, chinese prep
The hole becomes my body
I am the hole
YOU ARE READING
The Fear of Drowning Deep
PoetryShe was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful something to be admired from a distance not up close. - A little talent is a good thing to have if you ever want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every...
