The goblins keep fuming fire,
My gnome whispers a lost poem,
I see the smoke surging ahead,
The vision fumbles in the flames.
Mist spreads its wings,
I feel the warm desolate fields
The streets heave with me
The scarecrow looks at me…then looks away.
Dark clouds hover over my dreams,
Kafka still lies on the shore,
I dance to Dylan’s tunes…
Smoke upon cooled waters.
The coffee brews back in time…
Wafers crunch on your tongue…
A distant land melody…
Fruitless labours exploring spaces.
The rustic smell of fingernails,
Eyes piercing layers,
Intoxicating scents linger on…
Disastrous pursuits are my forte.
A stroke of conspiracy on our palms
I can taste your words on my lips…
The smell of roses at 1 a.m…
Pangs of unspoken words suffocate me.
Cassandra whispers to me every night,
I hold on,
Closer still...
Claustrophobia sets in.
The pendulum swings the minute hand,
The burdened bookshelf gives in,
Invisible motives caressed,
Shivers turning into quakes.
Passion flaring chills,
I spread my wings…I cry aloud,
The sand clock shatters to entwined thorns…
The symphony breaks a tune, a tear drops…
The clock ticks 40 past 8 again,
Those flowers still give me goose bumps,
They turn down the lights,
The cookie crumbles, for maybe, the last time.
Sheets lie crumpled…
Bed creaking again…
The wind upon my cheeks,
I wake up to this nostalgic night.
The ghosts mock my fear,
My fingers shiver on the digits,
The paranoia sets in again,
Unanswered tragedies...
The last flicker burns out,
Scars enveloped in your voice,
Suddenly, my fingers fall out,
Your image mocks my spastic existence.
Insomnia clips my eyelids apart,
I slip again…
Plummeting into the rabbit-hole…
Wilted roses lying around.
Icarus screams in my guts,
A poem lost between the sheets,
We stare at Romeo’s lost poster-you and I,
Webs of lies entangled.
I sleep towards momentary freedom,
All that’s left is the whispers of horses in my ears,
The smell of roses at 1 a.m.
The shimmering sand of our hourglass.
