My troubled soul has reached the edge...I'm shaking at the knees...the power my heart has over my mind is terrifying. Ambushes of unstable thoughts surround me. I lock myself inside my notebook.
Primal instincts could sway me harm.
My intuition is suspect at best.
A distant whisper calling. The little things. They keep me breath.
Frozen. Paralysed by the unknown.
Hindered by my collection of failed endevors... the next could do me in.
What is right?
I've prayed at every crossroad reached...
to find this edge again.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The Edge by Little King of Sorrows )
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