This is my book of poetry that I hope to eventually publish with photos. |
Curled up in a small ball, Running down an endless hall, You scream and run and try to escape, But bringing you down is the feeling you hate. Searching through the fogs you know so well, And dancing around the flames of your personal Hell, Rising to meet the sorrow inside you, Embracing the despair is all you can do. The sweat drips down your spine, Focusing on the fuzzy far away line, Trying to resurface, to return to your life, Hiding behind a wall of eternal pain and strife. You know there is a name for what you feel, There is a reason you linger here, You know there is a sunrise coming, another dawn, Yet you remain lingering in the night, dark. The sweat is not truly sweat, you know, it is blood, The feelings inside are masking one worse than all others, You are shivering but not from cold, my dear, You are shivering from your feelings of fear. If you think you are safe you are not, There is endless cold yet you're burning hot, You laugh and cry and shiver and shake, The hold it has on you refuses to break. In the depths of your soul you feel the feeling rise once more, And you loyally step through the familiar door, You curse and yell and cry and scream, The most horrible thing is this is not a dream. It eats you up inside, this friend you hold, It destroys your logic and life, the enemy you behold, Must I tell you were you are, what you feel? This feeling, I'm afraid, is very real. You know there is a name for what you feel, There is a reason you linger here, You know there is a sunrise coming, another dawn, Yet you remain lingering in the night, dark. The sweat is not truly sweat, you know, it is blood, The feelings inside are masking one worse than all others, You are shivering but not from cold, my dear, You are shivering from your feelings of fear. |