Time.

There was freedom in ones lonliness and existence in ones presense. 

I wanted to witness the never ending night, but time was of the essence. 

My vision had advanced dull across the colorless sky,

And pain lit me up like it was the fourth of July.

The road never ended that night,

As I reached up and glided across what was left of the unforgivable.

What was left of time. 

 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741