Poetry (words)

Bubble. 

It ended as it always would. Without protest or a will to continue. What couldn’t be changed still the core of all doubt. Not a desolate place, but empty of warmth. A door closed….and an echo of its closing the only recollection.

It’s not enough. It’s the scraps being thrown to the grateful beast, barely alive, but kept close at hand by hunger alone. Survival and starvation at odds, motivational extremes. I can’t survive this, I can’t stay intact and remain in this bubble.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s