Nightmares that begin like this...


Even when deviants, asleep are,

My soul wonders in the sky,

Walking in a town, I believe is my own.

A silence retreats covered questions with an unmerciful despise.

When will I endure tranquility?

Maybe tomorrow, perhaps.

Pedals of strong steel,

Feet permiscent of unbelievable survival.

That's why I am here.

Don't dare to ask why I do such things.

Don't think of pity when you see me running down the street.

I might be mad,

And I might be only prudent enough to play sane during the day.

Oh! But these nocturnal affairs are terrific.

Exquisite thieves of rest.

I'll pay the debt late.

Just like yesterday,

A magical thread of a useful cycle.

Protein for eloquences,

It all comes together once I let profanity take favor,

Resurrecting in the form of lung's vapor.

Sipping on the moonlight's sweat,

I feel alive when I expose myself like this.

Yet, a portrait keeps beheading me.

Slicing my neck, thick.

Child's eyes,

Devil's hair,

And broad mouth, you've got.

I'd ask to become one with me tonight,

However, we know what that means...

A trapped spit, I hold on tight,

Just like thy love,

Only lust has engaged, though.

It doesn't matter; I'll never permit myself to ask for more.

I'll get used to the way you have centered yourself in this pulpy heart.

Convinced, you are.

Of terminating our innocent perversion,

Blaming my attempt to bloom slowly.

It's alright.

We crawl like specimens of the world's lab.

We'll part ways at the end,

Now, keep reminding me of your scent by proclaiming this body of mine.

I'll give it to you,

Again, I don't really care.

surreal poetry
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Val Mijares

Telling stories since I have use of knowledge.

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