For once I am able to listen to the smallest voice in my head over the shouting and screaming that dominates the seminar.
A small vote against giving in to my inner demons and fighting back.
And so I sit in silence with death gently resting on my wrist.
I listen to the deafening silence of the room that seems to speak in a language made not of words, but rather than in emotion.
Isolation.
Loneliness.
My eyes forming rivers on my cheeks.
I want it all to end.
But I don't.
Because above all the shouting and screaming that echoes in my skull, I hear one voice above it all softly speaking a word.
A single word:
Live.
YOU ARE READING
The Process of
PoetryThis whole book is a poem made up of smaller poems. It's a story of someone that is struggling through life. It's up to you to decipher your own story through this. #7 in haiku July 18, 2018 #1 in enlightenment July 18, 2018 -EasonV (Free verse and...
