See her face again
This time just can't be any flashback
Slowly shutting her lips and eyes
She calls me back to Valhalla
And all at once back to Tartarus
...
It's just another sign you're slipping
No motivation, No creativity
...
Lonely sidewalk wants a hug
Perhaps I should float down
I see her eyes between the concrete
The sea is calling
Now I'm floating like a lead ball
...
Slipping and dipping
No motivation, No creativity
...
Who ever really cares until you're dead?
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Author:
The 2 A.M Writer (
Offline) - Published: June 4th, 2017 02:02
- Comment from author about the poem: Fuck, that's the melatonin kicking in. Should probably sleep
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments2
Slipping indeed, but such a neat slide through the ages. May kindred spirits find and guide you.
Slipping and dripping we watch our faces melt. You laugh at mine, but yours is the same draining wax
Loss of inspiration ? Go to the store for more . Along the way your eyes are fine tuned to the reality around . A lone leaf lofty in the lucid air . The bag lady shuffling through her collection of junk giving her a satisfaction we will never know . The hard to open front door of the store grudgingly giving in . The "Hello" from a patron passing you by . Then you by some beer .
It's somewhat of a metaphor other things, although your suggestions are very helpful. And I'm too young to buy beer, weed will do for now
Ha ha ,where there is a will there is reefer .
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