The polluted waves
of raw sewage
wash up on shore
unaffected by the passage of time.
They flood the corridors of my brain.
All I see is dark.
All I feel is uncomfortable dampness.
I keep the walls within reach
of my fingers,
blindly groping
for a way out.
3 comments:
This ones very dark and depressing, I always feel that a depessing poem creates a depressing world.
You are right. But, sometimes poetry can be therapy.
Very nice work. I love this one.
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