PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My eyeballs are floating

Under the notions 

Of unwanted answers 

And the oceans of judgment

Just ain’t doing me right, fellas

The crooked path 

Of the left hand 

Tempers the wrath

I hold for myself,

And I hold myself 

Like my mother did

Before the fear came

A host in hell’s home

Slowly misguided 

All but left alone

To answer a bright red ringing phone, 

It’s commissioner Gorden 

But the dream is dead 

So it must be Satan 

Seeing if I’m still here 

To clear room for the sin

I’ve been getting behind on 

"Let your thoughts retreat, 

 I'm here when the waters there,

 Drain your head for me Darling, 

And do what you have to 

But remember to stay scared”

She sucked at speeches 

Spoke in screeches 

But she made me laugh 

And rolled calm like waves 

On the shores of sad beaches 

I dig my toes into her sand

But the dream is dead

And I’ll admit that now

It was an awful lot 

Like leaches