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shadowsfriend0987
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A phantom
that floats beneath reality’s boot
like a fidgeting cockroach
avoiding the wet squelching crunch
of being overwhelmed by it all.
So, instead, it floats,
drifting on tops of memories
that never happened,
should have,
but never did.
The phantom,
made of smoke
and cloak
and memories,
sits on the grimy edge of a fountain.
One that hisses and sputters with life,
while the phantom dares itself to drink
without ever really meaning to
even when it wants the water
to cool its burning insides.
But phantoms don’t have guts to do
or mouths to drink
or tongues to taste.
They float
above a world,
and below it,
to the point of such disorientation
it’s the kind you get in the magician’s box
when you realize the trick didn’t work,
and the audience is screaming
because this isn’t what they paid to see.
And the phantom sighs,
its feet floating up,
and its head sinking down,
in such a way that it’s never really whole
even if it seems to be.
But that’s what a phantom is
and it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t have to please
because it doesn’t have the heart to,
and it doesn’t have to see
because it doesn’t have the eyes to.
No.
Only smoke
and cloak
and memories…
Oh,
and a cockroach that fidgets
beneath reality’s boot.
***
there are three major food groups:
non-chocolate
pure chocolate
and....
pastry chocolate:3
books, anime, manga, and anything with a great story!Interact