PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Symptomless and boring,
Coasting slowly by sick scenery;
I'm beginning to veer off and leave
My real life behind

The nonsense gets to me and
Swaying flowers don't make sense;
I just wish I could be the messenger who mends.

I drift away in a panic because
My work seems so trivial and
The concept of a five hour war
With real guns is fine.

So, alone in my new hollow and wide awake;
I watch fresh faces dance --painlessly--
With smiles to match my dreams

And riding by my beaten side until I flourish;
A more adult approach at growing
But still a baby faced dark thought.

Then i'm back in a place I know
Writhing in kerosene;
Just begging for a lonely spark and
Pretending I don't exist.

So as the devil's sycophant and the killer of the cool,
I'll revel in obscurity; always hidden behind a lie.