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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1134532
I think you'll be able to fihure it out.
I quietly sit on the sill
Looking down upon the mill
Quiet is the darkened castle
Adorned with strings of tassle

I feel useless and adrift
Vulnerable and alone
I await the fear of descent
And I await to hit the stone
My curious fear rises high
My tragic fate is near
I pray to the dark midnight sky
As I face my worst fear
High up I have fallen
Only to crash down in pain
My tragic death is callin
I am finally sane
© Copyright 2006 Adrian J.T (adrian_j_777 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1134532-Finally-Sane