There's an atmosphere in my head,
But it's not my own.
Every thought leaves an atmosphere:
The same way food leaves an aftertaste,
Or the sun leaves an afterglow,
Or even the way a man leaves his footprints.
A certain thought left an aftertaste;
I can still feel what the idea was like,
But I can not say for certain what it was.
I can only try to explain what it's like,
But even that I'm afraid won't bring it back.
There's an atmosphere in my head,
But it's not my own.
I know what my mind feels like,
And this lingerer is not of my headspace.
Like air freshener changes the fragrance of a room,
Like a lightbulb changes the warmth of it.
A piece of information left my imagination,
But left its aura in my head.
There's an atmosphere in my head,
But it's not my own.
There's a cloud in my blue sky,
A stain on my sheets,
An odour lingering around my subconscious.
Like a guest, a Will O' The Wisp,
Like furniture slightly shifted;
It's not that much different,
But it's not the same, either.
But I can wait until it's gone,
So I'll wait for it to pass.
YOU ARE READING
The Darkness Within: Vol. 2
PoetryA second installment, a continuation of its brutally and abruptly discontinued predecessor. It's a very personal poetry book, as most of those who have read some poetry from the original would know. Long story short, I write to vent, and this is wh...
