filling
the back of your throat
water, air
something thicker
deep and low
rising somewhere
within
I'm the hanging stick
on a fishline
suspended
no longer attached
but, too high to drop
into the water
detached
hanging
yet, afraid to let go
water
rising
in my throat
like a wave
one minute
I smile, it's a nice day
the next
no breath
tears roll
down my face
will it always be this way?
suspended
holding on
so close
and yet so far away
I detach
and yet,
my heart
it still stays
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