She dreams of the stage at a 9 to 5
Dreams of characters a little more alive
Where diamond dust is swept into the eyes
A place where angels go to rest & hide
The computer clicks & shovels
Spent one too many decades inside a bubble
Days withering to meek & subtle
Between tear drops & the daily struggle
She knows she was meant for more than this
Meant for the cosmos to drip from her lips
In the universal, mind-craving bliss
Of singing in the starlight with golden wrists
Will she ever reach the place she craves?
Will she ever be content in her days?
Will her belly shrivel up & pass?
Will she become food for the grass?
Is her soul to remain in a forever fast?
Am I trapped?
Love always,
Chayle
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Babydoll Head In My Closet
This frightening experience occurred when I was about eight years old. I used to sleep on the couch downstairs, next to my dad's bed, because I was afraid of the dark. My mom typically wouldn't get home until around 11pm, so I always slept near my dad for comfort.
By spooky session5 days ago in Poets
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Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Outstanding work,