I had a dream of speed
and in that dream i saw
myself fly and collide with glass
and the glass shattered
my blood splattered
and the fractures stabbed
and i saw my eyes lose light
underneath a starless sky
and cold unforgiving winds
of autumn's breeze and i saw
blue and red flash and
i heard screams and beeps
of monitors that forced me
and i saw myself lifted
and i saw thousands of drips
in my skin and the glass inside
me was imbedded and i led
myself through the procedure of playing
dead like a dog
and of swelling up and of maggots
and of rigor mortis and necrosis
YOU ARE READING
The Art Of Riddance
PoetryPoetry isn't the telling of a story; it's getting rid of the emotions that long plague you. These are my emotions; they are raw. These are my stories; And this is who I am.
