Not A Poem, Just Thought Poem by sean dischiavi

it hurts to stand at the precipice of enlightend concepts. always blocking a straight path, never allowing the straight slash. i stand alone in the wood. the soggy dampness of age old decomposition invading each breath. each tree becoming a pillarthat holds the sky aloft. the crushing wieght of what that blue could and should represent bows these coulumns. splitting my fragile sanity like too little temperd glass and not enough rubber mat. these sky holding gods, arms raised, feed from these split wrists. gaining strength from my indulgent and unrelenting pain. giving you that sence that you know it all, but the truth be told your mind is a crystal ball. only magical when sombody gifted is applied. only then does it show all thats inside. well, pretty soon this sky will fall, the gods will die, and i will be mercifully crushed by the wieght. because i cant bleed forever. ill stop felling pain. the river will run empty, and all but black will remain.