Cliff of Doubt, Mask of Fear

Meaningless "poetry" that is supposedly a metaphor...

The paint runs down my face,

it feels sticky and smells of rust.

The fumes send me staggering,

and in the processs, my heel catches on a rock.

I backflip off the cliff I was dumbly perched on.

I hit the ground.

This is the lowest I've ever been,

and I'm in too much pain to climb back up.

Author's Note

I thought of this when I was thinking about how much Shakespeare sucks....
Enjoy!

Reviews

[piggy]

lovely writing.
sorrows and defeat in a nice little bunch of words.
thank you so much