Maybe there are no words left to spill
Because the milk has gone bitter on the counter.
Maybe the elegance of our smooth words
Has rotted alongside the foul milk, curdling now.
.
I am tired of the talking, the sour thoughts
That decomposed between my teeth with neon cereal
Months and months and years ago.
I am tired of thinking these dreams are fresh.
.
Because somewhere along the way the produce went bad.
The fresh snow covering my dreams became crunchy,
And then grey, slushy, filthy.
I don't want to play here.
.
The milk is bitter and so are my dreams.
They've been left on the counter
In the hopes of sprouting a plant
But this was never that kind of dream to begin with.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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