PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I turned up a small bottle

Back then

I was young,

far from home,

and the only thing

I cared about

were the voices

not the facts

or the fictions

not the adult decisions

or the harder choices

I turned up a small bottle

lifted from a pharamacy

to deal with problems

you couldn't fathom

because you've never

had them

The rush of bitter liquids

and apathetic tounges twisting

kiss me on the cheek

and wish away what's left to sleep,

My friends all look at me

right before they dissolve

back to white noise

curled on couches

coming back from the dead

we regale the visions

were not visions at all,

They were real

and we were some

steady camera men

capturing what we could

before the moment

ceased to be,

I was dirty back then,

a kind hearted kid

but my god

did I want to see color

explode into us

and bounce off each other

in a brilliant exibition

of mind vs. body

until the kidneys filtered

this mess out of us,

"Beware the Dexters"

they would say,

They go nowhere

but only to an imaginary place

to play in thought

and static,

a sea of white

to hold me tight

and keep those thoughts at bay

all that I held tragic

was a memory I'd like to forget,

Everything in that bottle though

was all I thought was magic

minus the rabbit

multiply the regret