Journey. FOURTH.

It was like walking on tightrope

Firmly grasping for straws

Desperately holding on to unseen hopes

As if the only remedy was the silence of death.
It was as soft and as hard as ice

It was like hell with hail as rain

The depths of my mind scrambling for truth

but the insides of my mouth spewing lies.
It was like treading water

An impossible journey, altogether.

The days I have lived are all but this,

they were, are, hopefully won’t be for long…



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