talking to a God who doesn't talk back. this cheapened bliss hypnotises her mesmerized by the small things, all the simple things. trash painted over with rainbow-like colors again and then again. slowing the pace of a rushed life grabbing for air and flowers. visiting a grave with empty remains in nightmares that she will never shake. and the spiders crawl and the spiders bite and slowly, slower now, she's slipping. wake to the sound of your own voice. sleeping in your mind's gutters careful not to wake the angels. missed opportunity at goodness and she falls into her own mouth carelessly she just can't seem to get it right talking to a God who doesn't talk back.Birth sign: Scorpio
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Robin.