Imagination
I fear to remember and yearn to forget.
I only ever wanted to be the real version of my imagination.
As I overlook my existence, I see that my imagination was a depiction of my fears.
They held real truth.
As I hold the structure and mould the vision to its misconception, I retrieve the preconceived notions as a ticket to my blissful youth.
An ironic thought of innocents taken at its pinnacle second.
I wish to not repeat his story
I wish to change it
I plead to escape my noesis
Can I flee from these mental reminders and noises that prompt me of forgetful chronicles.
If only my life consisted of the fairytales I used to read to myself before bedtime to help me refrain away from memories, that tried to keep me from sleep and float with night lights and aberration.
Can I drive to an oblivion and disengage with things that I see in my peripheral?
Can I retract from my episodic memory of occasions when I thought I was happy?
Sleep is non existent when I continue to bathe in my imagination.
About the Creator
Kiesha 'KSsense' sadler
I would like to call myself a poet. I would like to say that I have a tendency to express using words that rhyme. I would like to say that I am a distinctive character, with and abstract mind. I would like to say that writing is therapy...
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The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler4 days ago in Fiction
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