A diary for the mind.
Like an online diary for the mind.
Poke my head out then hide.
Throw bombs to collide in a weird kind of self destruction.
Not a matter to jest with.
I’ve known two who didn’t live and to anything my heart I’d give to have five beats more for the why’s I live.
My online diary spoke to me, grabbed hands and lunged, clasped me.
Beneath rose thorns and bramble weeds.
Rusty iron frames and dirty green leaves.
Pulled under tightly, thirsty to breathe.
Drowning air, a suffocating freeze.
Moonlit shadows of make believe.
Like an online diary, for the mind.
© G.P Williamson 2018