Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 20
There's a chip in the crystal ceiling
I can see it from there
Printing down shards of the outside world
Softly pushing among the dust

Light is flashing along the rust
Figures stood stillΒ Β andΒ Β shadows whirled
A distinct smell of walls populates the air
And colours look unappealing

In a foreign land some silhouettes dancing
They keep bringing kids to the fair
and at some point the surroundings curled
In deeper dreams and further disgust
Essentially you're buried under a ton of sand and you have to draw the map
Written by
Pointless Circle  26/M/France
Please log in to view and add comments on poems