"All That's Left"

And when the party's done
and I've had my fun
what will be left to hide?
A snicker here,
a chuckle there
and all that is left is to reside
among measures of mischief
tapered to themselves,
starry street lamps
falling over wooden shelves,
And somewhere there is a barren
wasteland of dreams
where everything seems
to take heed from its wake
and suffer horrific fate
in the cerebral cellar
where it only puts itself at stake.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sleepy Ramblings Regarding Strange Habits of Mine

Domenica | a poem

Socks | poem