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raquel-stewartPoems
its cold where i live and i don't mean in a city or a town i mean where my soul lives my body lives in a city made of lights and dreams while my soul could only dream of having dreams and touching lights there are days where sounds are just my own songs are made by the slow thumping of my deceasing heart water that seem to only come from the creases of my dark eyes tears i call them my mind begins to question whether or not its alive alive dead alive dead alive dead it keeps repeating. reality becomes a distortion make believe becomes reality death seems easy to grip easy to hold easy to love easy to accept and as my soul watches it's body walk around the streets made of lights and dreams it curls itself ready to go ****
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Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
outsider/insider
its cold where i live and i don't mean in a city or a town i mean where my soul lives my body lives in a city made of lights and dreams while my soul could only dream of having dreams and touching lights there are days where sounds are just my own songs are made by the slow thumping of my deceasing heart water that seem to only come from the creases of my dark eyes tears i call them my mind begins to question whether or not its alive alive dead alive dead alive dead it keeps repeating. reality becomes a distortion make believe becomes reality death seems easy to grip easy to hold easy to love easy to accept and as my soul watches it's body walk around the streets made of lights and dreams it curls itself ready to go ****
Copyright © 2014 by Raquel Stewart
raquel-stewart
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raquel-stewart
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
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