We are shadows, memories piercing candid skin
In the cool shade of youth remembering
Children in my soul playing foolish games
Reading letters in candlelight by a fiery place
Casting spells in cloudy mirrors
Looking through windows into fraudulent reality
I hear the rain, the night's music flowing
Divinity in the mind's prison burgeoning in hollow pits
My unshaven face, puppy eyes, red blemishes
Days without showering in this depressive gloom
Insane statues with winter in our bodies, content hands
When we're stimulated and not thinking about the future
Visions like Chromecast unearthed in our ruins
I submit to desire, everyone does
Like moths to light, controlled by impulse
Peering through dark windows, into dark blue stones
Foiled by accidental circumstance
Those days of blue skies are long gone
Fading warm hands speak like pain, plagued hearts
Begging for relief, lonely men, lonely streets
Whispering chimes flicker like echoes
It makes me remember music class and my old Yamaha keyboard
The graffitied sticky notes and neon pens
How life used to be fun but now it's a cycle of endless torture
Endless moons, endless rivers
Right now I'm living for my art, my little glass house
My hedonism, my addictions, my biome
Everything else is boring.
- Author: Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: December 15th, 2021 18:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 52
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Comments2
Sometimes life feels like more pain than joy … doesn’t it , it really shouldn’t be that way , makes no sense to me
I like your choice of words in this 🙂
'Reading letters in candlelight
by a fiery place
Casting spells in cloudy mirrors
Looking through windows
into fraudulent realty
I hear the rain,
the night's music flowing
Divinity in the mind's prison burgeoning in hollow pits
My unshaven face, puppy eyes, red blemishes
Days without showering in this depressive gloom
Insane statues
with winter in our bodies, content hands
When we're stimulated
and not thinking about the future
Visions like Chromecast unearthed in our ruins
I submit to desire, everyone does
Like moths to light, controlled by impulse'
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.