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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #1202773
Please review? I'll return the favor. I had trouble getting to sleep, and so I wrote.
At least in dreams

I don’t know what’s going on
As a shadow struts across the wall
I looked up, a temporal black
The dim light lit in flux,
A box in my hand,
A knack for spotting ghosts that blight the knowledge that I host
My crux a fleeting, beating thing
A hope transpired faster than the flickered fire
On the head of a match
A match! A match! A match!
What a match!
And youthful what- lust? Not love, for certain
Got- no, gets in the way
Maybe dreams? A hope?
A stupid hope that drowned the hope of what I’d hoped would happen
And now? Now what?
Hated? No, it’s worse: ignored!
The dark again, the temporal black
Bleeds deep inside from something I must lack
Not blood, not lust for death, not something so bourgeois
Despair! Despair for more than love; that hope for hope that hoped to happen
Gone; a lack of sleep, a constant beat
Still hope: hope that she still hopes for me
At least in dreams
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