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It begins
a whisper tugging at the threads of my peace
causing them to vibrate with discord and tension
my weaving is off, the pattern is broken
somehow a spark sets flame to the rest
I will not break under the pressure
I might snap instead
My friends are willows, I am an oak
To be pulled up by the wind instead of bending and adapting to the adversity
They're screaming, throwing sand in my eyes, pulling my hair, punching my gut with icy fists
I tried to keep up, to defend my sanity from the incessant worry
I grow wearier by the day. Would it not be easier to giveupgivein
goinsaneloseitsnap?
I wash the grains from my draught-striken eyes with torrents of tears
when nobody can hear my sobs
the voices drown them out for me too
Is this Hell? I hope not.
Of course, my dreams do not factor into this at all. They never do.
 TempestuousSeas · Sat Apr 28, 2007 @ 12:55am · 0 Comments |
