low places.

a light shoots down from the middle;
parts my darkness into view.
i look up at the sky.
trees shimmer like a bed of glass.
the grounds starts to tremble
and i begin to crumble as the stitches holding me together rip apart.
falling...
falling further...

what's the point.
i don't need any of this.
i'm good here, wallowing in brilliance [slash] self-pity.
where is the truth.
why do i pretend.
i'm content here, drowning within.
when will i give a damn.
how am i even living.
don't spare me.
i can feel it in the air and in my bones.

it's a torpedo to the soul.

it's a tidal wave on repeat.
resistance is futile.

it's time i let it all go;

i think it's time.