The Room

I dream of falling
into obsession,
creating a drug of my own–
the worst concoction.

The floor of a stomach,
dropping away,
into the depths
of a stranger’s steady gaze.

I ripple with unsuccessful seductions,
sending senses scrambling,
as I determined
you could be right for me.

It is gathering interest
in that which is irrational,
when logic seems worthy
to be thrown out.

It is when heart beats
grow silent wings
first fluttering, then
flying out of reach.

There are no answers
for the questions I ask–
I am irrelevant
when you question me back.

The dream I believed in
was simply just that–
a ridiculous notion
that should not be sought out.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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