I became trapped in my own selfish misery. I once held onto hope. Positioned as a shiny metal object, glistening in the sun, it promised better days. I prayed to it. Ran my fingers over the smooth surface. Worshiped the image broadcast back to my heart.
I learned that day about rust as tears flowed. Death approaches angrily, despite appearances. I wish i hadn’t fallen so hard. Knives are all too predictable. Perhaps there is the lesson. Learn all you can before you are trapped.
Poetry courage death dreamscapes grace grief hope listening well meaning of life philosophy psychology relationships suicide this writing life voice
Indeed. Was the trap your design?
Good question. 😣 No answer. Not yet.
mmmmm……. I see!
Mainly because i am lazy to search deep. I skim the essence, the first layer satisfying. I need encouragement and inspiration to dive as i am claustrophobic in words packed closely and thickly settled.
Ah!