Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2016
itexplodesfromthechest
I hang myself
in every hammock
in which I lay..

I never understand
the vista from which I stand.

it is boundless
directionless
but hounded after by me
eternally and still.
Written by
mike
195
   Atticus
Please log in to view and add comments on poems