The emotion of being in this room
Is one of emptiness and recursion
How it churns my stomach
To know one in a million futures is gone
Do these floorboard creaks mean something?
Maybe they're ghosts of futures dying
The ones I had wished to lead
My father's gasping breaths
As if running from negation
He won't see those futures either
His blood in his lap one more time
He's proof that I'm too young to be dying
I still have many futures left
Though that brings no comfort
The world I left this room to see
The plateau I strived for years past
Was just a cliff into negation
Though six wolves saved me that time
They pulled me down to the valley
And left me in the grass
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Author:
Xochitl (
Offline) - Published: February 23rd, 2020 20:19
- Comment from author about the poem: I don't remember writing this
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: Nafis Light
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