You had that dream again. The ocean rises before you. It's a typhoon. But you don't run. You never do. You watch as the water crashes down around you. This is the horrifying part. The screams. The drowning. Every living creature around yo—you can hear them as their gasp corrode your mind. The water slaps a gentle touch against your cheek. The blue mimics your existence and all that you've ever stood for. Again, you hear her. The one you love the most. The one you'd sacrifice your life for. She reaches out toward you. She thinks about you. The thoughts that run through her as her last breath is swallowed reaches you. All she ever wanted to know was if you were okay. The distance between you two supposedly announces how different your life is from hers. Her life ends here. In this dream. Every other night. You finally come to touch your aching heart and sooth it. She is no longer alive. And you are the only one left standing. The eye of the storm directly above you laughs at your demise. Only if it wasn't for your blasted conceded self, you'd be able to save her. The ocean that rose before you. It's not a typhoon. It's your own selfishness and how your actions take lives with every intention of living out its own desires.
You hear your heart beat. You are alive. But you will never live to accept the fact.That she was never meant to be the one who saved you.
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September 22, 2014
YOU ARE READING
Decadence Hackneyed
PoetryTo decline unoriginal works bears Decadence Hackneyed. First poetry book in the Expostulate Series. A personal reminder to stay original. Written in 2013-2016.
