You've hit rock's bottom.
Now the hole is being filled.
You can dig and get to China,
Or stay, embrace the dirt.
Though it could be water,
If you release your pain.
If you could cry,
The mud would turn to rain
But you've forgotten how to feel
You've forgotten to believe.
You've lost all hope
And now you're giving in.
There's no happy ending
There's no charming prince.
There's no fairy godmother
There are no magic mice.
So you stay there, hearing the shoveling, feelling the dirt covering you up.
You'll die in your own grave.
Ironic, isn't it?
YOU ARE READING
Moths
PoetryThey deserved better... Jane, Methuselah, Razor, these are some protagonists of Moths, a series of poems and short stories about loneliness, depression and maybe death... Only one way to find out. I DO own the cover (now)
