This floor, these walls, this ceiling I know well,
Their every inch the measure of my hell —
This chair, this door, this bed all I’m equipped:
This would-be haven?
Nothing but
A crypt
This floor, these walls, this ceiling I know well,
Their every inch the measure of my hell —
This chair, this door, this bed all I’m equipped:
This would-be haven?
Nothing but
A crypt
I know these feelings only too well. Now I’m watching my son struggle with depression. It’s heartbreaking.
I need your poetry in my email inbox. Just knowing there’s another soul out there vibrating as i do is encouragement to keep trying. where has it gone? did you x me out? I’ll shut up. I’m getting pretty good at that. aitd
I don’t think reposted posts go to email.
Ahhhh…got it