i am dreaming like hell
to make it to the end
but there isn't one.
they all lied to me when they told
stories of wildly ambitious romantics
as though i could compare.
they lied like sweet-faced wretches
when they told me folktales of women
with strong backs of steel holding up
worlds of men
fuck
it's hard to do this as though i am one.
but still i'll dream like hell
til I reach that fucking rainbow's end
and tell dorothy what she's missing.
i'll dream myself into oblivion.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
