Standing in a room.
Six slabs of concrete to keep me safe.
But my mind is tearing these walls down.
Can’t see where I’m going anymore.
The people I love
are drifting off into the distance,
waving goodbye.
Fading away.
These walls are coming down, and now I’m floating on nothingness.
I’m surrounded by air.
Open.
Free.
Then I’m looking around.
Wondering.
Where did everybody go?
And then it hits me:
They left me.
I’m alone.
And I fall.
But it’s not fast.
It’s a slow,
painful,
long
fall.
I grab around me, searching.
Searching for a hand.
I find nothing.
They have drifted
too far now to find me.
To help me.
And so I still fall.
Wind is whipping my hair.
I tumble and I turn, still hoping.
And then I break.
I hit the ground hard.
I shatter like porcelain, and no one’s there to pick up my pieces.
Poetry
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Your writing style, and even just the format, really gives the allusion of falling here! The concept of being made of porcelain is a really great metaphor for how fragile you can feel in this type of situation. Great piece!