Setsuled's Journal

Dream Dead


Almost quietly:
Under floorboards creaking, almost
Killing the grass
Almost the end.

A taste of the sky:
airy, empty
Makes you dry

Remember a glimpse

Remember seeing
Something that wasn't there
Translucency, water colours on wax
fading, melting, intangible
Beautiful

Image stretched already beyond
This thing was meant for no matter
No matter . . .
Hard, choke snot rock cry
Silent, or almost almost silent

Path is dry
Dry dead riverbed
of old

Stones, smoothly, tumble
And clatter resonance
for shredded pink feet

Nobody sun
Sees nothing
And all cameras are
Nowhere

Small, naked, missing
Portions of body mass
No clothing to fill
Cadaverous holes in
Stomach
Ribs

Frail absence, blue white translucent
Skin
Reality of cold like a shadow
In the light
Of no one

Dreams are reality and
Equally lost, spilt between
The rocks
Now is only cold
And light
And stone

Possibly tired but
Forget to sit
Or to sleep
So keep walking

Only
Keep
Walking