The Liquid Divide
The sun goes down, the storm begins to rise,A tidal wave behind my weary eyes.
The fear of being left, the splitting dark,
Each emotion leaving such a burning mark.
I grab the glass to numb the jagged edge,
To stop myself from walking off the ledge.
With every sip, the roaring silence breaks,
A temporary shield for my mistakes.
I drown the "too much," hide the frantic need,And plant the, "I am fine," synthetic seed.But when the fog lifts, the trauma remains,The same broken heart, the same heavy chains.The bottle promises a quiet night,But leaves me sinking, hidden from the light.Yet,
Copyright © Kayla Hutchens | Year Posted 2026
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