Get Your Premium Membership

Dreaming A Long-Dead Dream

I write this as a performer
A puppetmaster's sad game
An archetype that I can never shed

The years are growing shorter
With nothing left to fill them
I've reached this mountaintop
But it's too dark to see

If I overdosed on twilight
Would you be there to hold my hand?
But of course, you've been dead for so long
That these feelings aren't funny anymore

The nights are growing longer
My apathy grows stronger
And the lights to light the night are too dim

See this house of peat moss?
I'm the one inside it.
The roof is growing grass

If I fought to keep this empty
Why do I dream of it so full
But again, you've been dead for too long
So I shouldn't think about it anymore

Nothing really changes
Just comes with new context
And a plot structure that's overall safer

I still want to die frequently
It's still the co-star's problem
But it's nice to have my stress be safer

If I could swallow all my pride
I'd swap it out for some Prozac
If you worked so hard to kill me, maybe
I should learn to laugh at all of this

If I knew that you were watching
I'd still act like I was yours
But you up and died astride me
So who really gives a damn anymore?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.