More than Dead, Less than Alive.

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by BoardsofTaine

by BoardsofTaine

My eyes are dry

/despite my churning insides/

as well as my ink

/despite the empty pages./

I'm only 12 feet under the surface and the pressure is unbearable,

(I'm not putting it on myself, water just happens to be very heavy.)

and she's probably curled up into the tightest ball, her muzzle snugly tucked beneath her paws, dreaming of running through fields littered with daisies.

suicidal ideations and oblivious parents loosing patience.

I'd leave but the house alarm would sound.

I'd follow the road until the rolling mountains are in view. I'd sleep underneath eucalyptus trees.

I'd breathe in nature's exhalation and I'd be less dead then.