The Undead, One-Person Poet Society: White Knuckles

Here is the next installment of my poetry series. It is entitled 'White Knuckles.' Enjoy! I have a picture format, which I prefer you to read because I do put font and layout into heavy consideration when I write poetry; however, for search engine optimization purposes, as well as for those with bad eyesight. I've copied and pasted the poetry directly into the text of this post below. Let me know what you think.

The misty silence.
The ebony abyss.
The labyrinth of misunderstood ideals.
A heart eroded.

Your mind.
Like the crevice in my soul,
or the last sunset I'll ever see.

I want to slip away somedays.
But I hold on with white knuckles,
because the thought that I might be wrong -
Wrong about my fears,
my doubts,
the insecurities that dapple the window that others look through,
is a good enough reason,
to keep hanging on with white knuckles.

I'm sorry,
That you are the crevice,
The last sunset,
The silence that is suffocatingly comfortable,
My ebony abyss,
and my maze.
I'm sorry,
that you are always a good enough reason to dangle,
while holding on with white knuckles.
© Miss Lauren Kyle
Maira Gall