His Call

He who cannot exsist...to me.

Bugs running across my face
Sheer envy increases
The light over his head
Burns brighter and brighter
I can't go to him

 

Scratches on the wall
Dripping tissues
Hanging from the ceiling
Sweat drenched sheets
Clenched in my hands
So gently

 

One's passion
Ever ceased?
He doesn't exsist
Lives only in
The tresure chest
Buried deep
Beneath my skin

 

Petals on the floor
Glistneing brighter
With every thought of him
I hear his call
Another red petal
Too close for thought
The wave of sleep

 

Spider webs and
Rainy days
Blank walls
Blink with stories
I hear his call
I can't go to him

Reviews

[Vanessa]

Ah.... current affairs, eh?? Sounds like something I've heard before, perhaps in another life. Or maybe.... today at lunch!! Ha, well anyway.... the message in this comes acrossreal clear. It's nice, this poem.

So.... I got my award today.

[Rambling Prose]

A beautiful write!