A memory of what once was.
A fractured remedy to close off the blisters that boil in rage.
What is the point in trying?
What is the point in...
Close. It's close to her now, the hope she used to have.
It's tragic, and the feeling is fleeting, she's a useless romantic.
Shades and skulls take home in the void she retreats to, escaping the tragedy of life.
She rambles and her thoughts never make sense, she holds the smallest encounter close to her heart.
Her heart belongs to everyone but herself, and she'd rather give everything to help, than save face for her own fleeting grace.
Holding her breath and jumping into the ocean that calls her name...
The chill bites at her skin and seeps into her bones, exhaling, her lungs are filled.
Finally... Finally she can be free.
Finally.
She's at peace.
YOU ARE READING
Dichotomy
PoetryThe observant is always watching. Humanity is here and thriving, but our world won't be surviving our reign. Alive, but not noticed in living. Here we are. A new life, new words, a new start. Aug. 12th 2019 - June 18th 2021 Vol. 1
