They crawl out
of soil, to help, to
forgive me,
to hold me,
showing me I’m not in hell,
beveling, I’m warm.
They crawl out
of soil, to help, to
forgive me,
to hold me,
showing me I’m not in hell,
beveling, I’m warm.
Depression, Poems, Poetry, recovery
This entry was posted on March 31, 2017, 3:57 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Blog: |
Stillfugue |
Topics: |
Fiction, Poetry, Essays |