PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I keep having this dream i'm laying with an old regime,

who can never add up to me how much she means,

she'll never be made no matter how much she cleans,

she'll never be an angel, no matter how much she seems,

look up and it's only me in my mirror,

i wipe away my tears, so i can see me clearer,

never afraid of a horror at the age of 4, so why fear her?

maybe i wouldn't if i didn't see her behind me in every mirror,

my walls must be talking, surely i'm hearing someone,

i gotta figure out exactly where these voices come from,

even if presently i conduct that search with no one,

i won't over extend myself again, i'll never grow none,

just as i open my door to journey over to your house,

i run right back to my room like a small girl who saw a mouse,

out of all the applause i hear, i still wish to hear yours,

out of all the summer fling we had i still wish we had more.