The stone settled into her consciousness
Weighing her down into a vat of anxiety
She raised her hand and placed it on her heart
It was still beating
She steadied her mind
Wishing for better days
Hoping against hope
Knowing change was a sloth
She heard the voices
And they were stinging
The world was spinning speciousness
All filled with impropriety
The heart filled with a poisoned dart
Overheating and seething
She needed to run, runaway
And pick up that stone and throw far, far away
Categories: Culture, Poetry, Psychology