it feels like i'm suffocating
the hands from the depths of me
have trapped me in what feels like a cage—
the cage of my own thoughts
they grip my throat
with an iron fist—
they won't let me breath
i've forgotten what fresh air feels like
because the hands never leave me
they've surrounded me
with a black smoke—
the smoke that has
become a part of me
YOU ARE READING
growing seeds from wilted roses
Poetrydear reader, my friend, please be gentle for you are reading pieces of my heart written onto these pages for your eyes to read and for your heart to feel.
