While a phoenix rises from the ashes,
the same cannot be said about
the bridge she burned.
Her fingers are sullied from grabbing
the ashes.
Embers scar her palms.
She gathers the ashes around her,
trying to find the beginning of
The bridge that once was.
Surrounding her are the
Burned Bridges of the Past.
She picks them apart to make another.
It doesn't reach those she needs.
The safety underneath is no more;
she doesn't have the motivation to jump.
There's no one willing
and strong enough to catch her.
I pray that Adam be her light at
the end of the tunnel
rather than a spark that sets her
last bridge aflame.
YOU ARE READING
Caffeine and Me
PoetryA collection of poetry ranging from brain farts to exploring why I bother getting up in the morning. Most likely there is some form of caffeine to keep me awake (or alert) enough to type my thoughts out regarding my depression, struggles within my d...
