PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Officially, it's more than a quarter past

Four o'clock in the morning...

But then again that fictitious

Clock could be lying,

Like telling time was just make believe.



Every corpse I ever knew

Seems to find an empty vacancy,

Burrowing farther in my head,

Haunting me, asleep or not asleep.



Awake, thanks for the lovely whiplash...

Those ancient words, older than hieroglyphics,

Find a special place

Within my Soul, viciously killing



Suppose it's officially

A fresh out the box kind of day.

Wiggling, wresting, choking memories,

Uncoiled, maliciously

Free.

Surreal, it was too evil to be real.

Opossum play, not a smidgen of reality.

You're not even here in flesh,

As if a heart still beat under your chest



Must you really taunt me?

You're merely a Ghost

Oh Heaven's sake.

I beg off this nightmare,

Just shake me awake.

Pinch me,

Punch me,

Is that all I can take?



Stronger than I thought,

Force my eyes peeled, ripely open.

This is silly.

Absolutely, of course

I am laughing, or rather

Listening, you a broken record

I've got one last fight.



Ample piles, endless Ghost stories

And Ghost faces, appearing falsely.

Lumpy loads of yesterday's laundry...



Welcome to my laundromat.

Take a seat,

Rest your throbbing feet,

Glimpse into my insanity.

Make sure you inhale, deeply, well

You ought to feel lucky,

You're in for a real treat!