What the fuck is this feeling?
Sat with legs tucked, dangling off the ceiling,
Just sun-struck and reeling—
No luck, no freeing the sun struck, and
This shit has no meaning.
It’s its fate, too late, my legs have no feeling.
The rope hanging, but no one’s complaining,
The pressure straining feels enslaving.
Can’t have them seeing this, my thoughts rearranging,
My mind is changing.
I grab the rope as the sunlight feels strangling—
I’m done just dangling.
And just like that, I’m falling.
The ground is calling.
It stops me—it distraught me, as the sunlight that fought me sets atop me.
I realize it isn’t what I thought, see,
It felt good, I agree.
Despite falling from the rooftop
And the rope on the ceiling,
This insight from the sun atop my grieving
Is the only thing that brought me my healing.
So embracing this feeling is achieving
What they said that facing with seeing is freeing—
Us to see, tracing the life we must be wasting
And defacing.
So no more pacing or hasting.
This time, we start facing.
And in time, you’ll be fine,
And take the fall as a sign
That it’s the sun and falling you need tasting.
What the fuck is this feeling? (Fixed)
