Standing Tall
Once again I have been reduced to rubble. There/s thick Ivy growing up my spine and holding me to everything i/ve turned my back on. My arms are hanging limp, my head is held high, and my eyes are dried over with a layer of salt. My throat burns from holding down a gut feeling of impending doom. Oh regret oh regret oh regret. If only I could double over and let everything come spilling out. If only I had an axe to free myself from the roots wrapped around my ankles.