Poetry

Peas, and Things

She lays herself on a bed of eggshells,
As sleep tiptoes away from her,
Her head weary with feathery realities,
Faces off with unwise dreams.

Love who once nourished her inner piths,
now sends a chill down a sloped spine.
Pretend she will, smile she will,
To a life of immeasurable roofs.

Day and night, day and night,
A punctured soul leaks peas, and things,
into a closet lavish with mold,
through, through, with foggy truths,
As day engulfs the exuberant night.

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