Feelings fluctuate due to circumstance, proximity, emotional and physical well-being; infinite reasons.
Leaves wither and quiver in Autumn, grow golden and fall gracefully to the gradually cooling ground.
Trees are left barren and bare in the harshly harrowing Winter.
Yet in Spring buds surge to life. Springing forth the promise of new beginnings and regrowth.
We are the perpetual cycle. Forever stuck. Forever blissfully bound.
Or are we?
Will our blossoms bloom again?
Or has our tree been uprooted?
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Suicide Sky (SS 1)
PoetryTRIGGER WARNING emotional exhibitionism; raw, unfortunate honesty. non-fiction. includes songs and significant lyrics. this is probably shit.
