Concussed

I saw fateful stars,

Not twinkling with lullaby dust,

But searing, scorching, bright

with meteoric impact.

I stumbled into black,

a murky, messy plight

of blurry edges, hollow words.

I hid in shades of blue,

masking brutal light

from tear-stained cheeks and pillows

in aching heart shapes.

I clawed up, surfacing

on wings of hopeful flight,

reaching for a handhold

to pull myself out.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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