Warped
a poem not to be read, only to be breathed

From time to time
a rollercoaster ride;
being on the left side
is no fun.
After a few rounds,
the key to the left side
is lost and found;
waiting to be disguised
by a new witchcraft
entering through my window
at dawn.
A multidimensional soul
playing guitar and screaming into the microphone;
imaging of the brain lost in a fog.
Where is the lake?
Maybe I needed a break.
Who knows?
I know reality is not
my cup of tea
as I prefer real
essential liquid
to soothe
and sleep
through the noise.
Maybe this will quiet things down.
After a storm, the sun shines.
Tell me good stories,
not ghost ones this time.
---
Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...




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