raindrops on ashes and sharp claws on kittens,
mace covered flowers and beds filled with needles,
specious bright pathways that lead us to darkness,
treacherous sweet dreams turned into nightmares.
sugar coated lies and dear smelling arsenic,
tainted lyrics of lullabies and morbid child rhymes,
long winding roads that end without warning,
musical black knells to remember the dead.
here we dwell on bitter tasting memories,
plagued by the ever discordant reality,
while hoping to find a distant reason to live,
a notion so fruitless, no energy to give.
we lie awake dreaming of a life worth leading,
only to wake the next morning with nothing changing.
day by day we hope, close our eyes, and pray.
wake up and smell the roses; it's the only way.
plant them and reap them
and then lie beneath them.
I should probably not always write such morbid poems.
