Good morning darkness. Oh how I’ve grown to cherish you.
Hello evening grace. Oh how I’ve grown to love you.
The soft glow from the horizon cools my skin.
The clouds echoes faintly remain.
Still, the night is, it washes over me releasing every sense and the tension
As it builds it breaks like a dam.
Rushing waters weather the protective coating that seals me in.
Like a shedding snake it steals my skin.
Fractured I become.
Peel away the rest, for it only creates an itch.
Will I still hold up without the layers?
Will I?
Stitch me up, heal these wounds.
It’s times like these that I wonder if the fault lines are as obvious to everyone else, because I can’t seem to find them.
Oh, physician, can you repair these damaged cells?
Oh, healer, you can heal me but not yourself?

I'm not an accomplished writer, critic, or musician. I'm 19 and I enjoy writing. I really wish I could give you a nice depiction of who I am and if I knew I would tell you. If you want to get to know me, just talk.


  • My Morning Story

    This piece makes me think “This is what a heroin addict feels right after they shoot up.” .. I could be wrong.. but i donno.

    • fairlyoddrob7706

      Hmm not the initial meaning, but I can definitely see where you’re coming from.

      You always have interesting takes on my work. I like it. haha


  • James-Dean

    i dig the piece, reminds me of fall, how fitting a publishing date

    • fairlyoddrob7706

      Oddly enough, I kind of got an image of fall when I wrote it. haha

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