As I stand before the flame, my fingers itch to be charred.
I blow back the aruma of the heat, as an instant flicker reflects across my dark eyes.
I breath it all in. The colors collide into my chest, and... "Click."
Darkness.
The sound of shattering glass is what brought me back, as the chains break, spilling ice.
No.
I am lying.
I don't dream like that.
-But if I did... if my chains were cut, if he "saved" me... I would scream.
All of the pain would leave me in one breath.
All of the colors would blow back out of me, leaving me.
I would fall to my knees in spilled ice, knowing,
-hoping he'd hold me in that cold darkness.
-Because if it wasn't a dream, I couldn't do such a thing.
No.
I don't dream like that.
I wish I could.
I wish that my subconscious, god, for any reason...
allowed me to dream like that.
That I could feel that control factor.
Liberty.
That I might release what I can not during certain waking days.
No.
I don't dream like that.
I don't dream that sort of fantasy.
This poem in it's self is just a fantasy for a dream I won't have.
In the end, I guess I don't need that dream.
When my pen turns fears into beautiful, unknown, works of release...
This dream becomes nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Behind My Eyes
PoetryA posting of every poem that I've ever written ...in continuation, as I write new things and express myself. Experience everything that lies behind my eyes. I am not very active on this site and only have used it to draw out my talents and express...
