Dream No. 3

dreams, Internal Poetry, Line Poetry, Poetry, Problems, This Doesn't Feel Right

In my dreams last night,

There was fleeting sex with an evil person whose feel I can’t remember,

On the second floor of a bunk-bed in front of a Netflix screen.

I don’t remember courting, nor the catch-up about what happened after doing each other wrong,

Merely doing each other.

There was snow on the ground,

As if this presence passed through my security

Because I never let go of them in the first place.

I do not feel disgust looking at this,

I stare only with blank eyes.

I need to consult this with the film over my corneas.

What are you doing there in the first place?

I look at my bed, empty in reality.

What were you doing there in the first place?

Coldness Overtakes Duality

Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Poetry, Problems, Questions

I can hear the coldness in my eyes doing the speaking for me.

Usually takes so long for them to get in the conversation,

Red always stage dives right into the middle of matters.

But here I am, glowing shades of cerulean and indigo

Dot the highlights of the expectations I’ve left unmet.

I don’t know why, or where, or how,

But let’s just leave them.

Neglect is the icy blue fire that fuels my unamused acumen.

My hair drops shades of color,

Slime starts protruding from my pores,

And I sink.

And I write.

I’ve learned so well to cope and love in isolation.

Such an obnoxious extrovert and I’ve learned to love

The dark

Solitude

Half-open eyes

Tickles in my left thumb,

“You’re not good enough”

Calculated response

Sadness

I dance a sullen waltz across the floor,

Changing in triplet with lovers to be

Before motion sweeps me away from them.

I hope they all don’t think they’re not good enough.

But to be that kind of honest we’re afraid to get,

The kind that stings your eyes with painful contradictions to your wishes

I can’t be anywhere involved with someone whose company makes me feel empty.

But I’ll always love myself,

So I keep writing and forgetting,

Marking my memories in these sullen elegies,

So I don’t have to hold on.