The pool in my backyard has turned green,
and not the kind of green you write poetry about.
It's not a vibrant, spring fling green,
but a murky and tiresome green.

It's not the kind of green you write poetry about,
for it doesn't flow freely in the breeze.
It does not represent freedom, nor nature,
or anything in between.

It's still, it's stagnant, it's gripping and mean,
a green you don't want growing in your heart,
a green that will consume and tear you apart,
a green you won't write poetry about.

My pool has turned a menacing green,
that rattles my brain and keeps me awake,
that floods my thoughts with each breathe I take,
and defiles my soul everyday.

My pool has turned an unforgettable green,
that rots and haunts all of my dreams.

Some people curl up in a ball
Do nothing with their life at all
I can’t imagine dying

Watch as their dreams go screaming past
Think they’ve got time but it won’t last
Watch their dreams dying

Shackled by their bloated will
With all the time in the world to ****
Every second’s dying

Hold me now but let me go
Push me when I’m moving slow
There’s no time for dying

Dreams are in each breath that we take
In each exhale and valuable mistake
Some rush out our outstretched fingertips
While others stay trapped behind dead eyes