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.”
