he called at one and told me to meet him at the usual place, the usual time under a faded crimson sky i told my friend that i wanted to die and how every day i cry with no concrete reason why and have bad dreams every night or every night i manage to dream and feel sickly like i am forever lost at sea or in a state of perpetual motion and all the girls i used to know are married and moved away and they're so much happier than me, they tell me every chance they get he told me that i need to wake up from this nightmare and accept the actuality reality as truth, hostile stars that shine like shards of broken glass in the sun i asked him if he would find it in his heart to end my suffering his harsh reply was a kiss on the lips and a retort to shut up pouring me a glass of homemade honey liquor instead, he told me to drink i obey. god, i hate that taste so much. honey is the essence of death but still i swallow until the trees sway though no wind rustles their leaves the cold earth beneath me spins faster and faster on its crooked axis until we pass out together somewhere in the park i don't recall before the sunrise, we jolt awake wondering how we got into this plastic playscape tangled in a tube that we could not have possibly crawled into inebriated and of course he knows no better way to put me in my place then to throw a looking glass into my face and make me see myself tendrils of hair wet with dew or rain and shivering with the early morning chill he said broken hearts are easy to hide, ignore, leave to rot and die when you break your heart, nothing really cracks, it just distorts leaving you cynical or bitter, sometimes both, or sometimes you waste away from the sheer wretchedness of the emotions that are forced upon you he smiled shrewedly and reflected our faces. 'look at you, look at me' 'nearly twenty five years and nothing to show for our trials and failures' 16 we were children and not yet able to see the error of our ways 18 we were hopeful for a golden bright future, impervious and immortal 20 we were confused, wondering when it was we became vulnerable to fate and now we are simply and slowly wandering blind, no hope left to dream i ask him once more if there was a point in living this unfeeling lie (and like a bed of roses, there's a dozen reasons in this gun) he presses one finger against my ashen lips and quiets my internal reflection he tells me it is time to go to sleep, that the sun will shine in the morning and i can do nothing but agree. sleep with me in my bed for the rest of the nighttime its so cold outside but we will know no frost upon our wintery hearts so long as we accept that to really live in the present we've given ourselves we must open our hearts to the dreams we once allowed to overtake our souls and stop living in fear of an uncertain future or lurking in the shadows of a crippling past
its not really *poetry*, it was just me spilling thoughts about that night. but i'm glad that you can understand...not the sadness, just the whole idea
I've scanned through what you've got here, and while I like what I've read, I find it hard to read the rest. My mind is lazy and has little attention span, and if not told in concrete terms how to read something, it will flit about, jumping from one line to another three lines down, and then back to another two above, then to the end, and so on and so forth. How can my mind be trapped and disciplined? Structure, grammar. Capitilisation, punctuation. Telling my mind where to flit, and keeping it there. Then again, you said this wasn't a poem, more of a stream of consciousness piece... But a little bit of work on the structure and what-not, and you'd have an actual poem.
