A.W. Books & Poetry

There’s no air up there

In the clouds of my crown.

I start choking before I fall to the ground.

Pull the pin, and I’ll sin,

Until everything comes out.

Is it real if I don’t drag myself to stake?

The pressure in my chest begs me to crash down,

Holding on to the edge,

Start seeing black now.

Believe enough to make the cusp,

Doubt enough to murder my trust,

Why, oh why, do I feel this much?

So it goes, round and round,

And my own twisted words turn me into a clown.

Because when you walk away,

I haven’t got the guts to say,

You’ve never stopped being

Everything I’ve tried to escape.

~Annalise