PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Perhaps her eyes held illusions
but you still fell into them.

I take notes to pass the time
and sell an image
with every brutal fall of lashes.

Pure rationalism. She swears

tt becomes easier to pull the wool over your eyes
as the seconds drip by
but I still tuck hopes between each breath
and sip my lemonade
(despite its bitter taste)
as the grave mold flakes
in time with every soft fallen step
on my subconscious she lazily etches:

while leaves drift through saliva slick sunsets

and rest on my outstretched palm,

while she runs down hallways 

turning corners in my mind
searching for that neon exit

and she drips as she walks
-drips-
as she stumbles through hospital gowns
and over emotions left out to pasture
years earlier by someone - 
someone we almost remember.