Some days
I get
so low,
that I feel
as if
the only things
holding me
together
are my socks.
Knee-highs,
leg-encapsulating
socks
simply say,
"If we can keep
your calves solid,
you have legs,
and you can
handle the rest
from there."
It's the strangest thing,
most peculiar,
but I suppose
I must hang on to
whatever stops me
from collapsing.
YOU ARE READING
Unemotional
PoetryThere are times I don't want to get out of bed, simply because I know I wont feel anything anyways. These are poems produced by those days. My third book of poetry.
