Blood on my hands.
Calling for someone.
Anyone.
Roommate is by the door.
Laying in the palms of my hands.
A fetus.
It’s dead.
Symbolizing holding on to the dead past.
You perhaps.
How could this be?
Laying on the bathroom floor.
Blood surroonding me.
Every inch.
I see you standing at the doorway.
Such a pale face.
You wanted it but didn’t want to say.
I would never.
Never focusing on children.
Or can i?
Could it have been a new life for us?
Maybe a warning.
Im awaken from such reverie.
Horror and pain rush up my spine.
Almost feeling it in my hands.
Our it.
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Author:
killer._bee (
Offline) - Published: March 27th, 2019 04:03
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a dream I had a couple of days ago and still wonder why I ever dreamed about such horror. Enjoy x
- Category: Sad
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments2
That'll teach you not to eat cheese at supper time. You really dreamed that? It will be interesting to return here and see how MPS poets have interpreted your words.
You certainly held me with this piece.
But I like cheese. Ive been having the weirdest dreams about babies. 100% real dream. You are welcome x
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