Don't Forget to Speak
In a place between non-existent and the strongest brain in the world lies a bed of fresh bones.
The eyes of the owner had been thrown into the stars which turned his hair into milky way dust.
His fingers feeling soft, silky waters in the depths of euphoria.
The rest of his body fell into rose petals that had a hint of 2am within them.
It felt like the wind was trapped in a picture frame.
It had smelt like the idea of adding meaning to a meaningless thing.
The smell of your best friend and arbitrary memories that made you who you are, placed in a box and condemned to float across a lake and sent into a forgotten dimension that foretold the unchosen option.
The mind of a 7-year-old stuck in a void filled with the safety of holding his mothers hand.
A man so lonely, he has lost the will to communicate, keeping a space and a distance at all times without the intent of interference.
The owner of fresh bones with a window that holds the terror of the ocean. Lines after lines after lines and nothing left but a broken pencil and a broken mind.
A unique mind, hiding in the shadows of a dull one.
The trees give shade to those burnt by the sun.
Creatures made of crystal stuffed into a bag and shipped off the edge of the sea.
In this place, this distant world, things are as they are but as they shouldn't be.
They can’t tell if they've been trapped there or locked on the inside of a better world.
It's a place where imagination seeps into the pages of a notebook but then is torn by the boundaries of it.
The children share it but adults are forced to hide it under their pillows.
It's where too much is not enough and too little is consumed by the glass of its broken eyes.
This place holds friendly shadows that don't know how to hide.
It's a good place for those who want it to be.
This is a place between non-existent and a door that's locked from the inside, and only exists in the minds of those who think and think more than they speak.
Written: June 6th, 2018
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The Skeleton With a Crown
PoetryA poem book with all of my kx poems. Some sad, some old, but hey arent we all?