Email Poem

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Poem

I fail to sleep,
I fail at nothing at all,
yet, today I fail to sleep,
for the clouds pour, with echoing thunder,
upon my room,
a room with no walls.

A smell of delusion lurks in the air,
and makes its way through my roof,
the clock is ticking,
I beg it to stop, but it ticks,
and that's how time moves,
Inconsiderate, unfeeling, obstinate.

Time now slips off my hand,
and I curse the rain,
but the tears blend so beautifully,
as the rain courses down my eyes,
rests upon my skin,
and like time, slips by.

some invite sunshine,
and dance in its glee,
yellow frocks, cups of tea,
and a loving hand to hold,
but what if the rain is all I can call?
will this be only imaginable to me?

So I bathe,
hoping to wash my sins,
but the rain peppers my agony,
like a chef,
so intricate of his spice,
yet,pains his make beneath.

But you held out your hand,
and the dust crumbled away,
my blood learned how to breath,
you held my hand, but my fingers slid,
unwillingly, unwittingly,
and I cursed the rain again.

My soul dances,
dances so you'd turn,
but I stand where I am,
I beg my limbs to move,
so they grace the soul inside,
they don't,

I beg my arms to stretch,
so you'd come running back,
they don't,
and now the abyss calls out your name,
I plead my skin to tear apart,
so you can see the flames inside me,
my surreal heart.

But here I am,
frothing at my lungs,
in a pool of blood that flows to your accord,
your skin in my arms,
and you gone,
your breath begins to leave my mouth.

And I'm rendered,
left with an anecdote,
and my scarlet hands, wear the blood of my hope.

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