Descent
Kill me quickly-
the demons are coming,
reaching swirling black tendrils towards those
who’ve fallen from grace.
and I’d like to believe
I took that fall,
but we all know
the cracks in my surface would be
bigger
(and uglier)
I never belonged
to anything beautiful--
not even you.
That knowledge has killed me faster
than you ever could.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.