The End of the Beginning
The epitome of basic, a truest design.
Yet that's what everyone wants, a world worth the pine.
Black polaroid shirt and white converse shoes,
anxiety eating her alive as she thinks the thought of you.
Shaking legs and star glazing eyes, thunder rolling and panic glistening lies.
Tears welling in morse code,
eyelashes quivering in dreamy goodbyes.
She stares at the stars, the moon cradling her hands,
her mind thinks of rivers dancing in exotic, foreign lands.
Tundra bitten lips, dyed a lazy blue,
fingertips laughing drawing in sun-golden hues.
her soul says yes, but her mind stays the course,
but her imagination sleeps in black and gray, bleeding her dry of no remorse.
The cotton like clouds part as she walks,
a dreamland swimming in no time, no clocks.
The lilies weep and the daisies twirl, the stars align and the shadows twist and curl.
Her ankles are grabbed by the thoughts in her head,
she pushes them down as she lies in bed.
Her poor sweet soul shivers in the cold,
the dark covers her in a sugary abyss of what she can no longer control.
The light is what she fears, the darkness, admired,
her mind lay empty in a sleepless desire.
Keep your head up, your chin straight, don't bite your cheek, lay down and count your sheep.
Don't look at him in the eyes you'll only remember that time when time itself could fly.
Leave your shiny glowing globes peered onto the ground,
your tears only absorb in sweet sticky rice.
He doesn't truly care, and he never truly will,
get over it.
you can be you.
Copyright © Rory Wainwright | Year Posted 2019
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