you dare to dream, only to be shot down from the clouds, they don't like it when you fly high, mind soaring through the skies, they'll bind your hands so you can't connect pen and paper, your thoughts will taper away like the candle flames in the early mornings, when you're drunk on coffee and stale dreams, and the light that shone from your eyes has long since died with the thoughts they stole from your soul, and your heart, and your mind.
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Poésiethis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
