The scent of clean linen
as it dries in the breeze,
and my hands in the garden,
dirt on my knees,
and the windchimes ringing
like a faerie's laughter,
all encourage me to live
just one more chapter
so that I might see the flowers
that grow wild on the hills
just one more time
before I turn still.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
