Cracks
my fingers tingle
my knuckles white
i grasp my hopes
“it’ll be alright”
but nothing changes
they start to slip
through the cracks
that aren’t newly broken
words fall without a chance of
ever being spoken
my heart breaks with them
every idea is a fallen token
into a wishing well full of
of what could’ve been
what should’ve been
of my hopes and dreams
from before i was ever torn at the seams
This poem is about:
Me