Disclaimer: This one gets a disclaimer because i dont want people to
think that i still feel this way, or that i ever was this seriously depressed
my poems tend to be exaggerations so dont worry:) but enjoy.
sitting in a midnight black room with shattered glass encompasing
my shivering body, i'm terrified of moving more than an inch.
the glass is brilliant, almost glittering to my dulled eyes,
yet, it's tempting like the apple was to eve,
but i whimper
and wait for some sort of unspoken sign that it is safe to move.
i decide to take control of my uncomfortable situation
and ever so hesitantly reach out my shaking hand to pick up a shard of the
glittering blades.
however, as soon as the tip of my calloused finger begins to caress the
glass, i cringe,
still afraid of the responsibilities that occur
when one takes hold of the temptation.
how i appeared in this situation is unknown by every part of me
besides my conscious.
it seems to believe that i chose the situation
and that my inability to break through the broken glass is utterly pathetic.
however, i stay still besides my shuttering
and continue to think about my actions.