The constant whirring of my fan sends me into a state of tranquility,
sighing as I stay still to the best of my ability.
I want to move but I cannot, for if I do, I fear what will come to be.
I could possibly go back to you, go back to no longer being free.
But am I truly free now, as I sit in this vacant existence?
Or is it really all the same as when I was with you,
when you were unable to go the distance?
As the days grow longer I have no choice but to contemplate.
And I sit in the same spot, as the day starts again
and I accept my fate.
~A.T
YOU ARE READING
Sad Poems
PoetryA collection of poems that may pain you to read, possibly as much as they pained me to write
