inked.
dreams r drunk by the souls of the lost.
poetic ink.
what does that mean, its like
a dream I had where you were sitting in the corner
pens scattered on the floor, ink splattered on the floor
i had glasses of whiskey and bourbon and vodka and something
smelling the room with an aura of u.
it was US
us is something I’ll never understand
i want to understand you and I never will unless you and I become Us
this poetic feeling of what I think something could be just fully catapults
into a world that’s not of my own
it’s not ours
it make no sense as money falls to power which falls to ours
and ours are hours that speed through time as lies fall into THEN.
then was when I felt you touch my skin and hold my feelings in place for a moment
nothing sped as I wept
it stood as I groaned and felt the pain of what was in the hours of ours that built
nothingness was what I felt.
i rushed we rushed that psychological moment that happens when two people RUSH
there’s endorphins of happiness and glee and then a realization that those words are words
that might not be mine
that might not be hers
that suck because they should've been
yet they weren’t and that hurts
so with that, whatever THAT was.
inked.
