Welcome to my dream

I found my voice.
It was in between
vivid dreams and
(voice)
tainted reality.
Dreamers dream their lives
away.
Reality is scarred,
stained,
with sullen grey clouds, filled
with all the disgusting
regrets
Waiting to unleash its hell
on the unsuspecting day.
My voice is slowly slipping away.
Have you ever had a dream?
One that you wished would
push reality aside.
Keeping you hidden.
I am waiting,
to pour myself out
to those I wish could.
Listen to my oncoming storm.
Clashes of white-hot lightning
One in a million.
I am going to play
the odds and
God willing they’ll be in
my favor.
Living in this lucid dream
of mine.
The only thing I truly own.
Here I can be
the Supreme
Being.
Life will only get better.
I know it will.
There is no need to second-guess
the decisions.
That brought us to this poem.
Where others see nothing,
I see destruction.
Crumbling and decaying
as you dance through.
A torturous waltz.
It is time for this dream to be vindicated.
Waiting to be rebuilt…
Begging for me to care…
What happens if I never wake up
from this dream?
Would it matter if I stayed here
and rotted away?
Becoming a fragmentation of
myself.
Lifted up to Heaven on a
dream.
Invading my solace
I will never forgive you.
This blantant disregard for
any emotional attachment I had with
you.
If I stayed here,
would you even notice?
Give into the easy path.
The path carved through
broken trust,
jaded love,
misplaced sense of self.
You’re selfish
And I am angry.
That my dream is ending
with you stuck inside it.
Dreamless nights turn
into an unforgiving reality.
The storm is here.
My voice is gone.

Don't read this poem.
You're not going to like it.
You're going to aren't you?
No?
Well good for you.
This isn't going to be very worthwhile.
But if you insist...
I'll tell my story.
It's your funeral.
I let myself be led by my heart
and it got crushed.
It was like beating a dead horse
with a stick
then tossing it off a
twenty-five story building.
Look out below!
Splat, on the
ice black asphalt
run over by a taxi.
This unforgiving love of mine.
This poem is horrible.
All this vague talk of love.
If I was a poet
I'd quit.
No questions asked.
Turn in my resignation letter
to you all.
Thankfully,
I am not a poet.
OK.
Let's get back on track.
Get this going once
more.
Where were we?
You put yourself out
on the fake limb.
Only to cut it down
by your own hand.
Tumbling down
down
down
down
with baby and all.
Wait,
what the hell is a baby doing up
here?
This doesn't even make sense anymore.
I've gone from bad to
worse.
Luckily,
I'm content with that.
Content with the love I
have to make due.
No sappy sonnets.
Only me.
Trying to write a love poem.

Dreams are bursting
out,
popping.
With a subtle hint of
Phosphorus.
It’s a conundrum.
To hold onto the past,
while promising the
future.
That you’ll be there.
Forever.
The way it goes
is strange to say the least.
Delving
into slight madness.
Life’s tongue
in your cheek.
Who is truly holding
the strings to
this show?
Showcasing
fact into
folklore.
Unleashing the imagination.
Warping  what we believed,
what we thought,
sensed,
touched,
felt.
Wishing the penny could be flipped
once again
into the well.
This count down
begins at sunrise.
It never progresses.
Like the light at
the end of the tunnel.
Exploding into fire
and a cloud of
haze.

Rock n’ Roll
lightning.

Shot through from

head to
toe
better to

burn

out than
fade,

fade away.

Floatin’ down
Whiskey river

on
silica burned
canoes.

Fast paced
Holy City
conversations
left wanting

more.

Oh, don’t say
that this might be
the end of
our time here.

It has
only just begun
to hurt.

This is
why dreams
are built
on top of
nightmares.

Because we are
too ****** up
to feel that

This has happened
Before.

This collapse.

Slowly,
the trick is
becoming
more complex.

What more can be done?
Than to laugh.

Laughing.

As the walls crumble
into inner
thoughts of…

If only we would
look to
both sides
before crossing.

Oh everything is supposed
to turn out right.
If only right was
right.

Hahahahahahaha.

Poetry flows from the heart,
revealing ones soul.
If one has neither of these criterion.
Fake it.

For every one that loves the mountains
snow-capped, drenched in soft clouds
rising high, jutting into the open air.
There is another full of hatred for the mountains.
They obscure the view of that which they love.
The open sky.
A horizon stretching out, hidden by a rocky wall.
Recede! Part your peaks!
Let us gaze upon the falling horizon with ease,
basking in Apollo's warm glow.
The mountains are selfish, the sun is afraid.
However, one only needs to climb this foe to see,
that together two becomes one.

There’s danger in the night.
I’ll leave the light on.
A stormy symphony.
I will write poetry that comes to me.
Slammed into my temples.
A dream with the same theme.
One I cannot escape.

There’s danger in your sight.
I’ll leave the light on.
I’ll marry for money,
not love.
Calming my anxiety.
Leaving this Earth alone.
Celestial bodies waltzing.
Whispering contradictions.
Imagination gone awry
Aimless argumentation.

There’s danger in disillusion.
I’ll leave the light on.
Candles burning brightly.
Illuminating.
You can’t have it all.
I’m just beginning.
I hope you like it.
My hidden legacy.

There’s danger in seclusion.
I’ll leave the light on.
Founding fathers laid these remains.
Karma of our ancestors.
Ancestors to a future generation.
A revolution against
The lack of revolution
against
the thought of revolting.
Isolation is a cheap trick.

And when they come
they will say
they’ll talk of me
and of this day.

This is just the beginning.

Our Father,
Who art in Heaven.
Hear me.

I’ll leave the light on.