Tuesday morning
And I'm tumbling backwards down a plastic play slide
I see myself trying to reach out and grab onto something
But my fingers just slip making terrible squeaking sounds
I don't feel the skin rubbing off of my fingertips.
The yellow turns green
And now I'm falling down a hill
Fist-fulls of clumps of grass
And all I can think about is how my jeans are gonna be ruined.
I keep seeing their faces
I just want to stop spinning
But now I've crashed again
Broken glass clutters my dashboard
The horn is blaring but I can barely hear that
But it never ends
None of it will stop
Why can't I feel anything
Why don't I care
I just need to feel something
Let me shut it off
YOU ARE READING
Short Writing Pieces
PoetryJust some poetry/writing prompts of mine that I'm re-publishing from my wordpress.
