I am tired of this turbulence.
There must be a right way, right?
I strike at matches continuously
but the winds fight my efforts endlessly.
Will the calm ever come?
Does it even exist?
Will I ever make fire?
Or ever know rest?
•
I am tired of this turbulence
and how it stripes me of life,
this little life I try to sustain
through orange coloured pain.
My wounds mock me
As they painfully burn
Maybe the only warmth I'll know
will be of implosion.
22:40
05.03.23
YOU ARE READING
A Diary of Soul (Unedited Version)
PoetryKnow Thyself - Socrates Have you ever felt like a stranger to yourself? Like you're here, but lost? Just another performing mask in a sea of faces? Another wandering being made of dust? • Finding yourself and healing amidst dark moments of life i...
