I approach the cold metal with doubt,
I await it's atrocious, raw bite.
Met with shock, confrontation, unease.
Grasp of hands, but I hold, I escape,
Turn my hand, as I wring its dead neck
behind me, I'm releasing myself.
Only hindsight, the cell, I have left,
as I merely continue to next.
In a motion I fluidly walk,
from the beast I have conquered just now,
prognosticating.
YOU ARE READING
I can't sleep poetry
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry. Not all of it was written in the middle of the night but what was is horrible. I hope you enjoy the good poetry in here though!
