I cannot move.
It's more of a psychological thing
Than the physical inability
To move.
I can move now,
But I remembered my brain
Sparking in broken wires
And frayed edges of memory
As I tried to figure out
What the fuck was wrong with me.
But nothing was wrong.
It was the damned system
That failed me, that broke me.
You can't possibly be fixed
When the problems are out of reach,
And they belong to someone
You don't even fucking know.
I'm no longer out of motion,
But that doesn't mean a thing
When I'm so very close
To it happening all over again.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoetryI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
