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Bendable reality

Poetry By: Unbrokenpoet

We live in a bendable reality.

Submitted:Aug 12, 2012    Reads: 6    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Bendable reality Tangos of lovers chains and tongues. The twisted melodies of leather belts and backs on ebony balconies and broken bed posts. the flickering of lingering light switches. On. Off. Echoes of silence surrounded the emptiness of the frozen corridor. Time collapsed from the nothingness. Listen to the mocking of the quiet. In the distance. Like sugar in rain. Beckons for an unwritten life story. I got up. I could feel my body surrendering over to the silence. The pressure, of the lateral foundations potential release. A cascade of cube like bricks. Ashes of concrete fibers. And the haze of dust sprinkled eyes. I walk. Trying to escape my dream-like state of over thought-out mind. In my world my dreams collided with my reality. Stricken by the thought that I could no longer decipher the real from the fiction. Split between my imagination and my realistic mind. Was I upside- down-faced -forward. Or right-side-up-faced-backward. deceived by my very own windows to the soul. The tension built- causing the grounds to shake. Each and every bone screamed out to break as I struggle to stay awake. each step I take symbolizing a profound reason to keep moving onward. The density of the air shuffles as a smooth vibration slices it's way through the silence. A faint buzzing radiates through my bones and penetrates farther then my thoughts. To such a degree that I didn't realize I was hovering. Floating. In my reality. There was no longer functioning gravity - only air as dense as Broken hearts. Enough pain to be held in a billion tissues boxes and pillow cases. Only the strongest survive. Leaving the weak to play hopscotch along the side lines. And wait until it was there time to die. That death of a family member sadness. Or that no more milk disappointment. where everyone has there own reality. I float beyond the confines of my character. Into the realm of unconstructed dream space. A box- like fragmented garden. Displayed with foggy over tones of undirected sub-conscience. Where I fall asleep, only to awaken screaming in my all too well known white cell.


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