I'm standing at the door.
Everyone's waiting.
Urging me to go.
I pass through the entrance.
But there's nothing on the other side.
I turn around, trying to go back.
I don't like it here.
It's too dark.
It's too bright.
It's too hot.
It's too cold.
I'm too scared.
But the door is gone.
There's nothing in its place.
Or maybe there is.
I'll never know.
Because now I can't see.
Or feel.
Or hear.
Or smell.
I think I'm dead.
YOU ARE READING
~|:|~Poems~|:|~
PoetryJust a few poems I put together throughout quarantine because I had nothing better to do with my life. Quick warning, some of these deal with dark themes and mental illnesses, such as suicide and self-harm. If you are sensitive to these sorts of top...
