An original poem by: Axton N. O. Mitchell
Writing poetry isn’t nearly enough.
I need you to feel the way my heart
beats
when I hear the syllables
come out your mouth.
And it feels like you’re leaving me
all alone,
again.
The erratic pattern is
cause for immediate concern,
the reply trapped in my throat
causing me to
choke.
The anxiety I feel cannot
be controlled or expressed
by anything other than
the implosion of the most
vital organ in my body.
My heart was led by my head
and now I might as well be
Fucking
D
E
A
D
What struck you most or left you uncertain? 🧨
