Every breath is concrete proof I was granted
at least one more day of life.
Through chance, dumb luck, or
my stubborn belief that some green superfood
drink that absolves my sugar binges,
I'm still here.
Every sermon I've listened to preaches how
life is sacred and there is some reason for
my existence.
Looking up into the muddled sky,
the rain stings my face.
It doesn't cleanse me,
but reminds me I'm still here.
Maybe I'm being reborn again--
My third baptism.
Perhaps this time I'll do life right.
I'll be happy and not have to lie to
get through my days.
I'll be alright one day and find comfort
rather than isolation.
I'll be alone with myself and not alone.
I'll raise my mug and wish that to
whichever higher being has the most faith in me.
It's open season. Come at me.
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Caffeine and Me
ПоэзияA 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...
