The water at the creek sits, so shallow and so bleak.
My silent discontent, so hesitant and so meek.
The screaming voices pierce through the air,
rippling my composure, and blowing through my hair.
I sit on the edge on top of the tunnel,
keeping my fingers crossed with every aching muscle.
That I won't fall over, won't lose my head,
that i'll fall asleep, and wake up again.
YOU ARE READING
Poems probably
Poetrythe later parts are a lot better than the first ones in my opinion poems and random stuff i want to put on here
