deepundergroundpoetry.com

Sour Dreams
Somewhere...
Between the space inside my mind...and
My soul...
I've been drowning...
drowning inside an acid rain
floating...all alone...
Floating... through blood and bone
Till the shore seems only a distant pebble
and all that's left of me ....
Is a whisp of smoke and a memory
I wonder... as I convene in this void....
How did I get here...
Spirit Vicerated with bitterness
Soul... full of holes... from where
all the venom set in....
Now... all my dreams... are tainted
with Bitter Tears....
As a sourness... settles in....
Somehow... my essence is now...
Pickled...and packed away....
Like preserves
down in your Grandmother's basement...
Just sitting....
Just simmering...
Getting more... sour... as the years go by...
If only...
time were kind...
and not the contract killer it always
turns out to be....when one has more dream
than time...
When one has more regret... than hope.
Hope... now that word... is truly foreign
in this place....
Somehow...
Nothing has turned out the way it should
As I chase ancient rainbows from long ago memories
That I stole from children when they slept...cause
It takes too much energy to find happy memories of my own
Some how....
the best part of me...
Is Gone
Between the space inside my mind...and
My soul...
I've been drowning...
drowning inside an acid rain
floating...all alone...
Floating... through blood and bone
Till the shore seems only a distant pebble
and all that's left of me ....
Is a whisp of smoke and a memory
I wonder... as I convene in this void....
How did I get here...
Spirit Vicerated with bitterness
Soul... full of holes... from where
all the venom set in....
Now... all my dreams... are tainted
with Bitter Tears....
As a sourness... settles in....
Somehow... my essence is now...
Pickled...and packed away....
Like preserves
down in your Grandmother's basement...
Just sitting....
Just simmering...
Getting more... sour... as the years go by...
If only...
time were kind...
and not the contract killer it always
turns out to be....when one has more dream
than time...
When one has more regret... than hope.
Hope... now that word... is truly foreign
in this place....
Somehow...
Nothing has turned out the way it should
As I chase ancient rainbows from long ago memories
That I stole from children when they slept...cause
It takes too much energy to find happy memories of my own
Some how....
the best part of me...
Is Gone
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6
reading list entries 0
comments 12
reads 1017
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.