Who are you?
It's the question I often ask myself
In the curved mirror of bending thoughts
Waiting until the answer becomes clear
Where are you going?
Is this something I can answer honestly?
Is it possible to be standing still,
Racing, dancing, spinning and falling too?
What are you doing?
Is it possible I'm doing nothing?
A pressed up face against a train window
Or a hostage of your precious time?
What are you looking for?
To feel like a beating wing in a night's sky,
For chemicals to connect the synapses
To solve this ridiculous equation.
Will you be ok?
I'm a mass of nerves and electricity
Turning to dust and smoke
But to answer your question
I'm alive
About the Creator
Rose Pelos
-Poetry- -Short stories- -Children's stories- Science Fiction - Plays- I mostly write as a hobby, but would like to turn it into a career one day. I have been writing my entire life, and getting myself into gear by finally posting!
Keep reading
More stories from Rose Pelos and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.