I fall asleep to voiceless thoughts
And wake up to morbid day-dreams.
Out drips excretions from serrated prose,
The monologs of lifeless playthings.
Like playing dress up in foggy streets
Where every few feet has potential to be anything
And I can be whatever I believe
Until the sun erases my possabilities.
It eats me away with every dull moment,
Goading me back into my imagination.
Creative spirals of disparate mumblings,
The umbilical straps of my safe haven.
Eventually I’ll wake up to freer days
And slumber securely in a psychic Hell
When all my debts have been repaid
And I don’t slip away so well.
Happy New Year, Everyone.
There’s no denying it’s been hard. There are many faces I’ve missed and harsh realities to swallow. Still, it means a lot to share these scraps of prose with everyone who comes along. I hope you’re comfortable and secure tonight, and that we’ll have even more to share in 2021!