Crashing.

It’s just a soft breeze,
but my life has
yet to find it’s
roots and collapses to the
ground crushing
everything
I built.
I try to pick up
the pieces but it’s getting
harder and I’m
tired.
Too tired to keep
breathing through the
fire in my
chest and the
emptiness in the
air.

Published by

Nic Rasmussen

A Brooklyn-based poet who has a lot of feelings and writes about them quite often.

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