Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2020
Needles working into my throat,
As alarm bells ring through my ears.

A softly falling drop of liquid air
Dispersed into the vacuum of space.

If no place exists for me to breathe,
Then I’ll choke on the music.
I’ll end the show before the final dance,
And let the curtains close,
Bringing closure to my contract with life.
Ayn
Written by
Ayn  20/M/Wherever I May Roam
(20/M/Wherever I May Roam)   
38
   ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems