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On the roof, I gaze down onto the porch.
In my room, I'm working on a project.
The stars shine tonight like an angry mob,
Pitch fork, torches, dark and all.
They shout at me, to eachother, "kill the prospect!"
I walk down to have a drink.
A cup of water, 'fore the whiskey on the rocks.
Down the water, pour the whiskey, head to my room.
Continue working as it consumes me, my heart begins to sink.
The project is overwhelming, to say the least.
The drink, it tells me, "have another; the ice is yet to melt."
I pour another, then another, until I'm tipping on my seat.
I felt content to take a break,
And now I'm taking off my belt.
But the stars, they feel otherwise.
Grounds shake as the earth quakes.
"You will surely live in hell!" The stars begin to yell.
My heart then begins to stiffen.
I felt sharp pain like broken bones.
The room gets cold, but luckily my skin has thickened.
The clock kept ticking, moving very slow
And the chilling moon arrose as it began to snow.
The room started spinning in rapid motion,
The dark sky has swallowed the stars,
Like typhoons eating ships from the ocean
I'm in REM, feeling zen.
And then the stars all begin to fall.
I wake up, and it's yet another day to dread.
Another day, another journey to the gurney.
The project is expected to debut tonight.
I'll look up at the stars and watch them shine.
Light years away, the stars might be dead
The evening sun light's red like wine, wishing I was them.
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YOU ARE READING
Introspect
Poetry(2017-19) "Here lies the dark thoughts and words of mine. We may be real; We will one day seize from existence. But a thought, intangible and imaginary, is beyond reality and may never die unless ignorance behold us. So although we'll one...
