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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2311170
Processing feelings.
I feel the cold alone
chill me to the bone
Here I am
In the great expanse
Of The universe
Passing through as a ghost
What I want the most
Is to belong
I hear the whispers
Through the trees
She’s so tragic
the noises fade to static
I long for the connections
That have been disconnected
The distance between me
And them is tangible
I picture myself
Shattering to pieces
Without making a sound
Only to be found
As glass swept under the rug
I want to take up space
For others to see my face
To know I’m here
Hoping my presence
Doesn’t turn to dust
I repeat to myself I exist
To return to where I came from
Fills me with despair and shame
That outcast feeling is the same
I’ve felt my whole life
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