PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Why did I believe you

when you named me broken

and called my soul parts

ashes, numbness, doubt, and dirt

why did i listen

when you summoned from my deep

the demon of insecurity

and made me into disbelief?

why do i betray me

for every tiny shredded flag?

i sell my soul on the cheap

between heartbeats in a gamer's lag.

between fingers,

slip away my heart

as identity erodes.

token security elates

some need buried in my inner child

baby sinister beast plays out

memories to shame amityville

delusion hides your saccharine lies.

migraine sends me the bill.  

again i wake up buried deep

in the bullshit of my feigned surprise.

i'd blame you oh so easily

but i've already seen this green sunrise.

the adult in me is wary and wise

i've died wrapped in this musk before.

but inner child's waylaid escape

from this labyrinth of painted whores.

stranger whom i well remember

that killed in me the hopes of yore

only you can give me tainted virtue

if you open the unlocked door.

and you and i can well pretend

we've never ever been here before.

if i wake up before you sleep

i'll pretend i never wanted more.

as the first rays of sunrise

fall upon our wilted squalor

we close our eyes to truth and lies

await the dusk of the last sunrise

and know

the lives of ours failed in our arms

not for just us but for the end of time

always encroaching under the obvious order.

and whether strong or weak i'll hold you deep 

knowing at the end even you i'll barter.

cheap comforts bind to teddy bear bonds

but lost madness of the leal may indeed reveal 

what once was never ever ever ever ever for sale

might still be something a little bit real.

if only i might maybe remember

i think i saw it as a kid before.

the scent of home had led me far astray

as the lost are wont to wander

but spectral dreams of youth can beckon

far beyond the reach of reason

and awake dissolves the joy of dreams

with the familiar stench of crushed hope endured.

and on this, another day of charcoal clouds,

sometimes hopes are best when not remembered.

despair follows far too easily without

its entrance being baited or beckoned.