Standing.
at the edge of a precipice
on the threshold of insanity
a footing that's as good as none.
Hanging.
my words on a silver string
surpassing the sheen of pearls
like a noose around my neck.
Reading.
the poetry on your fingertips
while my ink stains the pages
darker than ever before.
Drinking.
from the cup of possibilities
drunk on daydreams
draining the dregs of being.
No comments:
Post a Comment