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Looking Through

Miscellaneous Poem

By sp zinesPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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Looking Through
Photo by Ranjith Alingal on Unsplash

Looking Through

I keep seeing flashes of light shadows in the corners of my eyes

I tell myself they are spirits of loved ones come fallen from the skies

I find myself staring into thin air like trying to trick their ghosts

I pretend that I can see them and hope they're the ones I love the most

I wonder where my modernity distaste came from in this empty house

I wither away at procrastination and steal the cheese from the second mouse

I feel the vibrance of my mind drain away with every anti-pyschotic pill

I touch myself as avid as ever in the lonesome night in from of a mirror but feel no thrill

My personality is the substance of a rubik's cube multicoloured displaced brick

My love for drugs in abundance send my soul souring drunk and the drink makes me sick

My life couldn't have been less predictable with so many twists and turns in stagnation

My mind is a verification of all that is lost and disordered and I order it a vacation

The love of my life I misconstrued for the want of being rude I refused to subdue and bend over

The life in love would never tarnish I'd batter it like an over-wished deformed four leafed clover

The touch in his skin burns me with soothing pain relief but the stars in his eyes have gone dull

The sex became crazed and a leap-frog game of broken dreams, bad behaviour died in youth's hull

Trading places took on a new meaning swapped lust for the love of the lost age's hopeless dreaming

Trading places took on a new meaning swapped fishnets for a nightdress and moans for screaming

I am a force to be reckoned with but who am I kidding? Who do you reckon will win the trial?

I am of course beckoned with him but who is he kidding? Who do I beckon within the smile?

I keep seeing flashes of shadows in light spaces from the sides of my eye's peripheral gaze

I sleep on hot splashes of old spent passion and it's just me and him and the holy ghosts of old age.

sad poetry
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About the Creator

sp zines

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