im approaching the end of the tightrope. will i be able to reach the finale? 'you've got this' i say out loud. the air's cold: i hate that; it causes my legs to ache and my feet to loose balance. everyone's looking at me from across the building; no glasses to be seen anywhere: such a shame, i would've liked to see anna around here. but nevermind; i will reach the other side, no matter how hard the birds scream at me.
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high thoughts
Poetryjust some stuff i write when high (not particularly good and not exactly well written) TW: suicide and depression stuff
