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Poetry

I’ve Been Down Since July

I am falling on the ash-gray tint of a fallen angel’s broken wings.

Traffic lights don’t wait until I am ready for them to turn green,

The hills from out my window don’t look like they’re ready for the snow to cover them in,

These days, I feel like a whisper scattered in the wind, searching for a rightful owner for my safest landing.

These days, strong wind courses through my whims the need to step out of this skin and walk on water where I can’t swim.

The river calls on to me like a haunting guide,

The only listener to my problems are these graceless nights,

Every hour is a spiral of misery in my mind,

Every tower is a difficult drive to try and unwind,

I am where rock bottom begins to look like a friendly face,

I’ve never gone this low before from my well-off high place.

It’s another Saturday morning that I’ve spent crying,

It hurts me to think how familiar this scene now is,

The deadliest trigger, from the words of another,

I’d rather the twist of your knife kill me straight, outward in.

I am falling on the ash-gray tint of a fallen angel’s broken wings.

I’ve always allowed my accomplishments to make my marking,

But what are my reasons when the pedestal gets shaky and I am face-front falling?

Where is my worth? What is my every bit of purpose tied to?

In the middle of the fall, I feel like I am nothing here.

In the middle of the fall, I feel like a speck of dust simply in your way and taking up a little too much space.

I feel the lowest I’ve been and every passing day a mistake,

This pain overrides my bat and swings; my combat from the battle that comes through the door bloodstained.

So many days I end on the floor with my deepest hurt at the feet of my ground,

So many days I look up with high hopes to look ahead without looking down,

But more days I fail than survive,

More and more days, I wish to simply fade with time.

My outer life looks as glistening as a good life could be,

But every ending ends with me, and I don’t think I am truly happy.

To my friends, I am warm and bright; always laughing,

To my family, I am silently obedient; always complying,

To me, I give too much and at the same time, I am nowhere near enough.

I am a Ferris wheel ride stuck at the bottom, the keys to musical notes forgotten,

I am a speech-less unfinished sentence, and every crescent moon’s honest wish to be full.

I am falling on the ash-gray tint of a fallen angel’s broken wings.

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