here you are.
at a ******* standstill.
sitting on the fence of taking leaps, or going back to sleep
breathing in all these insecurities.
it’s sick because theyre not worth a ****** thing, not a ****** thing.
cry for all the things you wont do
cry for your sick, sad world
cry for the doors you close, for the windows you wont open
suffocate yourself, discourage every spark from turning into a flame.
all the things that give you thrills are gone, and going.
******* fleeting.
look at you, left behind
alone with your crutches and your boundaries.
******* *******
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
here you are.
at a ******* standstill.
sitting on the fence of taking leaps, or going back to sleep
breathing in all these insecurities.
it’s sick because theyre not worth a ****** thing, not a ****** thing.
cry for all the things you wont do
cry for your sick, sad world
cry for the doors you close, for the windows you wont open
suffocate yourself, discourage every spark from turning into a flame.
all the things that give you thrills are gone, and going.
******* fleeting.
look at you, left behind
alone with your crutches and your boundaries.
******* *******
i already have a poem named anxiety, but i like this one much better.