its kind of hard to isolate ourselves from the world when whats
truly on the inside
is splattered across the ground
whilst the suns out
a moon filtered alter ego,
almost dark enough to match my soul in stormy weather
in the midst of those ebony-stained rainclouds,
theres a place
a place we've all been to before
that tangled forest of messy, coal colored branches
with scattered, fallen grey leaves
hiding dead grass
dead hopes
its the place where our dreams go to die,
and the place where all those
sappy emotions, and
unfathomable thoughts
tend to thrive well
hurting us more
but within those sad, pencil shaded woods,
there
a flower had blossomed
unbothered, a rose.
from the inky clouds above,
the tiniest ray of sunshine showered upon her weakly
a voice spoke to her. your voice.
"drink up the sun while you can, little one,
for the clouds are thickening."
the small rose cried back,
"pick me! pick me!"
but you stopped paying attention
long, long ago.
you chose a different flower
flowers, i should add.
she tried to scream but you never will listen
i whisper, i whimper
"but i love you, i miss you"
he snaps
thunder claps
lightning strikes
and everything flashed red
...then everything went black
gone
no, back again
but not a garden of shadows, this time,
a museum
filled with memories of you in glass cases.
flames licking up the building's walls
just as they would the trunks of undead trees
but im sure wildfires spread quicker than
the end of a cigarette
tossed lazily
onto the little red carpet that
covers the museum's polished marble floors,
protecting from the innocent squeaking
of damp shoes that only needed to hide
from the crying sky.
neglecting the feeling of myself
melting away into the poisoned rains
that lace the starless night sky
in a thin, toxic mist
though im no witch,
i'd much rather dissolve watching
the same flames that tore the fabric of my jeans,
and boiled my skin,
burn through the building that displayed all my memories of you.
burn it down, cigarette.
YOU ARE READING
i'm not sure what youre doing right now but i'm losing my fucking mind over you
Poetrymostly bullshit i use lots of metaphors based on true events
