PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My hoarse thoughts are elusive across the shadow of a vanilla sky.

Draped by window worthy curtains over my minds glass eye,

       spirographs emulate my overused calculated thought pattern

    palpitating the punctuation of syncopation to appear as random

       processed by precision prone paradiddles droning out the tune

  in which I march to my drummer

       speculating the resonance by the feedback's hesitance

     i prepare to open these curtains one final time

  keeping my heart in traction with every drummers action,

bringing back the slowing softening melodies of every actions reaction.



Call me inertia, or an agent of karma..

I've got this double 0 seven and i'm ready to kill.

spilling this honey tea remedy inside my skull till its filled

resetting my biorhythms

adding chocolate to this alabaster night.

my curtains will never need to be closed

and this hoarseness of my thoughts

was just a psychological cold



thinking in clarity i become my drummers drum

offsetting the spirograph making it random

but wrong

because now there's no light to cast a shadow on my elusive thoughts

rendering any ramification of me spliced in the wrong spot

i have no calculus, no logarithm to march to.  the precision prone handling is lost to my id.

instant gratification earned you the same thing nothing did