Illusion.

 

the alarm clock Moved

and it's started again:

I'm seeing things

and a voice belonging to

the throat of a Ghost

is saying my name too slow.

this happened before

Two years to the month

twenty four months to the Day.

the bed Moved a little.

the window opens, then closed

like the eyes of A dead man,

like the folding of Hands

and words sent to strangers

in elevators down Under

on and on it goes

and where I'll stop,

Nobody knows

nobody knows

I told him once

but he Died

He's dead.

I had no chance to say

goodbye even when You

waved your skeleton

hand At me.

eighteen Years of

wasted breath,

and one dose

of Reality.

Reviews

[+xDrunkenFairytalex+]

Whoa. I like this! :) I have a poem called "Illusions" and was expecting SO much different. This is a really neat poem!