Depression
is hibernating
up there
in my attic
and my
better days
were being too loud,
getting wasted downstairs,
waking up
the angry bear.
I,
remained
an outcast trying
to hug myself in the last
corners of my room
as I hear the loud, better days
walk out the door
like they were teenagers
out past their curfew.
I,
remained an outcast
and the sirens
were getting louder.
The party is now over.
YOU ARE READING
Unlit
PoetrySometimes I just get tired looking for my stolen matches, and so these places remain unlit. Copyright 2015 by CielloMaxin Highest ranking: #25 in Poetry 12/06/2016 DISCLAIMER: I do not own the photos I use for the covers of my books. All credits b...
