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we meet again

again, again, again

By Tiahni AdamsonPublished 5 years ago • 1 min read

Finding it hard to just breathe today,

Feeling the pull of my muddled brain tick a certain kind of way.

Down these slippery slopes we’ve slithered before,

Into shaded melancholy, encapsulating me like a smooth encore.

I know these damp walls and I’ve sat long in this well of darkness…

If only I could climb the ladder and remember where to flick the light switch.

My thoughts cascade down hopeless holes and narratives fast,

Trying to grip on to some senseless reality, without a care whether it will last.

I stare into a dusty mirror, watching myself wince in invisible chains;

I’m not insane, I’m not insane, I’m not insane, I’m not insane.

surreal poetry

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    Written by Tiahni Adamson