How?
How can a place where worlds are created
Have such a bland existence
So many pictures cover the walls
Somehow is still dull
The cold air stings as I breathe
This old carpet lives in unending dryness
Old wood scents the air around me
Out of the walls permeates something almost sweet
Where?
Where does it come from?
This feeling of numb?
YOU ARE READING
Drowning on Dry Land
PoetryThis is a book of original poems we've written (so far) over the past year. It's our hope that these can give someone hope; that someone somewhere will read these and know that they aren't suffering alone. We understand. We know what you're going th...
