My Poetry

Feverdream

All darkness is the absence of light
I sometimes find difficulty in finding this light
Well, most of the time really.
Light is so hard to find
So fleeting, though beautiful.

But then does that suggest
That the presence of light is the absence of darkness?
Or is there still darkness inside the light?
If there is only light, will it not be pointless to see?

Then I suppose that everything
Is a dimly lit room then?
Within a home, or another place?
There is a good balance of light and darkness
That is healthy and good for the eyes.

Why then is my room so much darker?
My light so much dimmer?
Why does it only come through windows, not lamps?
Why does darkness seem to resonate from the center of the room?

I can see myself in this room
In pictures hanging on the walls
All from different times in my youth
Most cheerful, a few are different

Very different, but we don't mention those.

The place I stand is in the center
Where I would personally put a lamp
I look like a drifting shadow, with a smile like needles
And glowing grey eyes.

Nothing is wrong!
There is nothing to see
Look at the walls, so pretty!
The flower wallpaper with the yellow background,
It really brings the whole place together.

There is something wrong here
My shadow stares at me
Into my soul, perhaps?
No, no that can't be right.

The upholstery on this couch,
Oh my! How beautiful!
Isn't the pattern so pretty, my friend?
The faded pink flowers
And the faded blue background?

I tear my eyes from my shadow
And look at the coffee table afront me
I see a letter, neatly folded
With a pill bottle and knife nearby it.

Look away, dear friend!
I grasped my arm
Look at the couch, it's very pretty
I stare at the couch for too long
And now the clock strikes three.

I look out the window and see little light pouring in
The darkness emanating from the room strengthens
The shadow moves, the other side disappears
I am left all alone with nobody but the shadow.

The shadow points at the blade and bottle
Then it looks me in the eye
It once again points to the table
This time at the neat little note.

I pick up the note and begin to read
What had been encrypted within
Luckily I could read it, though it was not my native language.
Tears stained the ink and made it bleed.

I read it again and again, taking in every word.
I can't see the signature.
I look up at the shadow once more.
It points to the paper again.

This time I read the signature
It looks beautiful in the dim lighting
I read the name again and again until I could never forget it.
"CheetahBoi, 2022"

2022