by ISAIAH
Two sides of one life, with two minds.
With 3 eyes, it’s still hard to see light,
poems with remedy, joking in soliloquies.
Still hard to hold on to loose vines—
the more you lose grip, you lose life.
They continue to drop weight on you.
A ship’s more beautiful when it sinks.
It proves the imperfect, important. Depression reeks,
the stench it stinks. Fighting for respiration,
dark skies don’t mean precipitation, no hesitation.
In my dark sometimes nothing equals something.
Don’t jump, you let them cut you to short stumps.
You’ll grow back, nevermind that, triumph.
Still no conclusions found in those two minds,
find something with that 3rd eye.
I guarantee with my life,
the answer isn’t suicide.
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