Thirty,
Forty,
Fifty,
Degrees.
Between your toes,
Sand grains,
Squeezed in between three walls,
Of insecurity.
A soft spot.
Let yourself sink in,
Relax.
Is the world diminishing?
Or is it you?
Let yourself sink in,
Feel the warmth,
Loosen your grip.
Loosen your grip,
On the branch of life.
Your knees are gone,
Out of sight.
You want to pull yourself up,
But there’s nothing to grab,
The branch of life is too high up.
It is too late.
The sun is gone,
No light seen for miles.
You are suffocating.
Just sink in.
In to the ground,
In to the dark,
In to the empty loneliness.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 4:28 PM UTC
Thirty,
Forty,
Fifty,
Degrees.
Between your toes,
Sand grains,
Squeezed in between three walls,
Of insecurity.
A soft spot.
Let yourself sink in,
Relax.
Is the world diminishing?
Or is it you?
Let yourself sink in,
Feel the warmth,
Loosen your grip.
Loosen your grip,
On the branch of life.
Your knees are gone,
Out of sight.
You want to pull yourself up,
But there’s nothing to grab,
The branch of life is too high up.
It is too late.
The sun is gone,
No light seen for miles.
You are suffocating.
Just sink in.
In to the ground,
In to the dark,
In to the empty loneliness.