PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Between my ears there are things not wanted,

never asked for nay were sought for.

They pay no rent, they add no worth;

they make the glass taste all the better.

I cannot claim them unlike house guests -

though they were not given welcome.

Here they sit and carry on,

eating legs off all the tables.

They make my vision kind of blurry.

They weigh me like a poor, cold meal...

But they tend to bring me sober,

and ready me for something cruel.

It's like they're moths all made of shadow,

and only flutter when inclined.

And when they do, they're so damn dusty.

Their fluff will clog my every valve.

If only I could shoo, they'd maybe even listen...

But what of me were they to escape?

Perhaps I'd always be, perhaps no longer me

or me but with a sickening glow.

Maybe I'm in love with the way they guide my hands?

Or the way they take the blame for all my falls behind...?

I couldn't say for sure or not,

But I'm sure that I've no idea how to be rid of them.