Tunnels
A short poem about falling.
Darkness. All I see is darkness. They tell me to focus on the light. The light at the end of the tunnel. A dozen mouths repeating the same lie, passed around like a truth they underlined in a book. But they don’t know. They’ve never been down here. They think it’s a tunnel. As if I could simply turn around and walk back to where I started. They’re up there yelling “Come to the light!” But I can’t hear them. Not anymore. I’m falling, tumbling headfirst down an abyss. There is no tunnel. There is no light. Just the deafening woosh of inevitability. I close my eyes every day, praying for the bottom to come and take it all away.
Note: Anyone concerned about this poem, breathe easy.
This is me describing a time that has long passed.
Some of my previous poems:
About Liminal Space Creative
As a Métis writer of short stories, flash fiction, and poems, I explore the grey areas of the human condition where love and sorrow pool together. My stories often blend genres, opening as one thing and shifting quietly into another, because the moments that change us forever rarely announce themselves.
“A dozen mouths repeating the same lie,
passed around like a truth they underlined in a book.” Loved this line, even if another’s words are meant with best intentions.
Glad you are experiencing better times
We write to remember to not forget the space and the pain once felt. But we also write to reflect on how far we came from then to now.
I've always had those thoughts. I'm so much better now but I can't ignore the past me some days.
This was perfect. Thank you for this.