The cold💤 (tw: blood, minor injuries) (long poem)

How could I explain

what damage

Emotions have done to

me?

Every day,

every night.

The cold, hard fury.

The overwhelming sadness.

What treasure

it is

to have people

who cares?

Anger is a cold, cold night

the coldest with snow.

Hard snow, not

soft.

Large jagged crystals

of bloodstained ice

Of red skies,

rivers,

clouds.

Sidewalks that beg

to be fallen on,

to scrape and cut your skin

until you are nothing

but scraps.

The trees

would be a simple gray

with black leaves.

If anger was a place.

Sadness is an endless pool

where you start at the very bottom

just at the tip

at the breaking point

of gasping all that water into

your lungs,

because you

need

air.

Once you finally make it

to the surface

you just keep

swimming.

It makes you just

want to give up

and rest

because

what in the *** else

can you even do?

The skies are dark blue.

A dark blue void would engulf you.

If sadness was a place.

Fear is a dark black void

forever falling, but still

on firm ground.

Eyes all watching

everyone is breathing

in your ear.

Constantly feeling

like you'd get grabbed

by cold hands

with long,

spindly,

twig-like fingers

and fingernails that

have a texture

of chipped bark.

If fear was a place.