Story Time

So I know this one seems long

But it's a small story

I love metaphorical stories, 

Because they actually have meaning

Sometimes people ask me...

What do you think about when you write

And I answer: Nothing 

Sometimes... 

Nothingness is beautiful.

There was this little kid that lived inside my head

She had no one she would talk to, until I met her in my bed

Her hair was white, her skin was pure vanilla colored eyes

Every time she’d speak to me her mouth would leak out sweet red wine

She used to tell me stories, myths during hours that Id dream

I found it strange how all her words would turn reality

The rhythm in each letter feathered tempered melodies

I soon began to crave our visits in our sleep

But sometimes she would cry blue tears that quickly crystalized

Sometimes she would yell so loud there flamed fire out her eyes

This little girl would beg my presence, and I would search for hers

And every time that’d Id awake the whole night was a blur

But when the seconds that she drew… would solidify

In between the prophecies I would realize

She held the future childishly in between her eyes

And I was able to foresee when I ventured in my mind

Every night… my ticking time, I became so obsessed

Every time I saw the girl I’d force her to confess

Who in life… would love me more, who would love me best

She tried to play those silly games, but I would grab her head.

And tell her, angry, sternly, loudly, asking for requests

Was my future made of golden roads, or a broken ugly mess?

When answers didn’t come to light I would turn so violent

And every time I saw this girl her eyes were very violet

My dreams began to turn maroon, the skies no longer blue

She ran away so far away, whenever I’d come thru

One day when I fell asleep, she waited at a shadowed pond

I asked her if she’d like to talk , she said “something’s very wrong”

Impatiently I asked her what. She waited no response

And when the seconds ticked way too loud I noticed she was gone

But her sweet soft voice it lingered in the cold and misty air

I walked into the shadowed pond to see if she was there

My feet they soaked, my pores the begged, this pond was way too cold

In the silence of that winters dream, I felt my very soul

Begin to have my body dragged inside the little pond

That now was bright and lighted white, her voice became a song

Muttering just muttering

“now you’ll never see

the future that you craved so much, for falling for a dream.”