It's cold.
The chill seeping into my bones is the only thing reminding me I'm alive.
Why do I feel hollow?
Be better, the pressure is enormous.
I'm tired of all the voices.
My mind is a tempestuous battlefield,
A vast expanse of choices.
Quiet is something of a distant memory.
Finding my center is... Foreign to me.
Why am I so drained?
Why do I feel chained?
The ground opens up and swallows me whole.
Even then I question, am I selfish? Am I cold?
A goodbye is a bittersweet necessity.
Even if the memories haunt in my dreams.
A break in hope is a pastime ignoring insanity creeping.
Walls so high I can't see the end of me.
Why am I so cold?
Why do I feel alone?
Why do I put up walls and barriers?
What is my purpose...
Why am I here?
Why?
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
