Sometimes it’s a series of speed bumps
Driving 60mph without breaking
Sometimes it’s a hill
With only one side to it, always climbing and fighting
My thoughts away
On some days it’s a slide
A theme park rollercoaster ride
My hands and hair up high in the air
Then I crash
It’s black
The emptiness, the speed bumps and hills all come back
I’m near enough dead, my souls starting to rot
Hanging off a cliff just waiting to drop
Flashing in front of my eyes
the grey images of life
Played on repeat like a torture
in a concentration camp
However
I just cannot die
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Author:
P.M.C (
Offline) - Published: January 4th, 2018 19:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
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