Kerosene Dreams

I want to dream. 

 

Purple skies, fireflies

with lights like stars

up in that lavender sky. 

With too much light to disguise

shadows and monsters and

evil and You.

 

Let me fucking dream.

 

Shut eyes is not shut eye.

Shut eyes are darkness and thought.

Purple skies are brain rot.

Everything ought to be sought and fought

away with that shadow and monsters

and evil and You.

 

I want to fucking Dream.

 

With open eyes and lungs of smoke

and ash and hot aches,

purple skies and fireflies

are no longer a dream.

It's hot and broils and bakes

and breaks and takes.

 

Just let me dream.

 

A fire raging beyond control

withing another nauseous stomach

and another sickly mind. 

Purple skies and fireflies

are twisted into a nightmare

of kerosene and wide-eyed dreams.

 

Perhaps I should give up.

Perhaps i was never meant to dream. 

Perhaps this soul is too vicious

and this mind too malicious.

 

So if I die before I wake,

know there is nothing from this soul to take.

And as Inow lay down to sleep, 

know there's nothing from this soul to keep.

If I die before the light, 

please hide this soul's dreams out of sight. 

And if this soul is as tainted 

as it does seem, 

then perhaps I will never dream

 

of lavender skies, 

butterflies, 

on fire with

callons of kerosene. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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