Annonymous

sleep is only a step in to a room with no walls
sleep is only a court with every possibility and no ball
fall or no fall sleep is inevitable
sleep is the chemical that makes our food for thought edible
sugar on vegetable
its melts our minds and drips them in to stencils
mold them in to emotions of the mental
it will rejuvenate and recuperate
radiate and illuminate
opaque, pallid, distinctively lavished colors that manage to swallow our dreams
sleep writes the book with closed seams
engraved with utlra violet beams
and every soul that screams as a team
to redeem the malfunction of being awake
to quake the earth with bad decisions and rake the lawn of the good vision
make life incisions with precisions
for everyone to listen...

sleep is to feel .. and it shall be done after a meal...

-peace

The Funeral

The Funeral

I want to cry out my thoughts of you and let hate filled tears be sopped up by soft Kleenex.
I want it so that you are not be able to hurt me by not listening to me.
I want to be un-phased when I feel that you are taking me for a fool.
I want to blow emotions from my nose that harbor love for you.

I want to mourn

I want to mourn the death of us.
Of the physical but never quite got mental lust of us.
Of the playing around in secret, fun of us.
Of my dreams and your enjoyment.

I want to weep.

For those nights that I left you floating on clouds that just proved to be water vapor
and you can't stand on no damn water vapor.

For those days that I planned to hold you
and I put on my best draws
and sprayed my best perfume
and put lotion on my entire body,
including my ankles
because
I wanted to be prepared for any part that you would touch.

For those sweet dreams
and beautiful nightmares
where I would sing your name sweetly my guilty pleasure
but I'm leaving you.

I want to purge.

Purge myself of you
and the feeling that if I lost you I would have pain in my stomach from the emptiness.

Purge myself of you
and the feeling that if I lost you I would have pain in my stomach from the emptiness.

How is it possible for something that can be so beautiful make you act so damn ugly?

To walk past me with faces void of emotion and generic gestures,

who are you?

I shouldn't have believed you when you soup'ed me up, so now I purge.

Now I weep.
Now I mourn.
Now I cry out my thoughts of you.
Salty,
in hopes that you would catch them.


Beka 10