PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In the circulation of the fluid within,

I still sense the presence

of an intoxicated liquid,

running through the tunnels of my body,

drives me a little eerie

to calm and rest,

for then this war begins,

why do I still open my eyes

to receive the sunrise?

Why am I,

this so called nice guy?

Why do I write love poetic lines?

The ones that seems make a ladies mind,

soar to the sky,

respect, loyalty, caress, and personality,

seems to be my so called strength,

yet the weak links,

of the strands of my veins,

for the dark clouds up above,

I run to cover and destroy,

yet when they scream out my name,

mind goes to a freeze stage,

only the wind seems to bullshit with me,

telling me life would be great,

maybe this fluid makes me imagine things,

thoughts in a way build a negative path,

or is it simple telling me

truth,

overload with what ifs… and maybes…

makes my brain cells simply

walk out my cranium,

I sure do understand them,

for I too would walkout of my self,

can I forget about it all,

make a new change

simple say fuck it all?

As this circulation keeps crawling all around,

it seems is just in due time,

till I head out and once again,

detach my mind,

set it in a dark place,

blind folded while it rest,

then run out and erase all my foot prints,

so when it wakes up,

it would simple be lost

-che