Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 12
The bridge between hell and home
its long, and always has no sun
the hell of looking down and the wind
the gravity pulls your gaze
there is a liar in the calm sounds
of the waves calling me to come to bed
sometimes bridges are triggering
Ed C
Written by
Ed C  22/NYC
Please log in to view and add comments on poems