The Moor In My Mind
The sound of trickling rain drops in my ears
A vision of the embodiment of purity
Through static noises and softness, she caresses
And my impurity looks at her while she undresses
With scattered mire beneath her skin
An infinite moor of adulation resides within her
It is her, breathing in the hidden hallway of my mind
Her Marlboro breath punctures my pores
She tastes like the blotches on the moon
Smoking individuality down to the filter
She leaves no growth for creativity
Her artfully painted fingernails scratch
Against the face of the ghost standing next to her
Does she see him? Slowly twirling her hair?
Or is it my eyes that are being spun?
A sudden urge to be that ghost emerges
Somehow she notices this impure desire
So she reaches out to gently touch my face
And to our disbelief, her hand goes right through me!
She sinks painfully down on the earth below her
Something tells me I know her, but have lost her name
In the magma of my own dream
With vermilion lips, her mouth begins to confess
And I listen to her whisper impure gestures at me
Her embodiment decays rapidly into static
The sound of rain stopping wakes me into a bitter confusion
Who was she and why was she here?
Was it to tease me into believing in her?
To trick my own mind into longing for love?
I search the moor in my mind every night
But she is never there…
Copyright © Rusted Dream | Year Posted 2013
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