i do not really exist

they send
messages of
adoration
not understanding
that the words
filling them so
came from a
monster
bleeding ink
from the
dessicated heart
of creation
falling in love
with the conduit
expecting
to light the
encroaching night
with the
grounded wires
of imagined
caricatures
ignoring the fact
that the author
is a flawed
misrepresentation
of hope’s farewell
spilling himself
indecently
onto an
unsuspecting
populace of
disenchanted
daydreamers
skipping stones
hoping to succumb
to the ripples
as they grow
distinctly more
tidal as they
approach the shore
little more than
a leech
on the bodice
of a disinterested muse

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s