Don’t tell Trevor the skies have turned black.
Don’t tell him I’m not coming back.
Don’t tell Trevor I had to go.
This is something he doesn’t want to know.
Don’t tell Trevor I’ve slaughtered all the stars.
He still thinks they rest somewhere afar.
Don’t tell Trevor my nightmares have turned grey.
He doesn’t know that was the color of all my days.
Don’t tell Trevor I had left one shot in the gun.
Just tell him this time I have won.
YOU ARE READING
Goblin Garden (My first collection of random poems) PUBLISHED!
PoetryThere is a shadow lurking on the edge of our perception, in the worst of our nightmares. It is us. It has always been us. Welcome to my first collection of poetry. Here you will find a mangled mess of dark, eccentric and sometimes hopeful poems...
