No title.
Words aren't worth a title for this grief.
A dream grew inside of me,
a dream with eyes and mouth and fingers
one that was supposed to make life perfect
A dream I could see in my mind's eye
Small, but growing steadily, a fledgling
forming thought
Two familiar faces merged into one
But then the stick said not.
I couldn't have kept the dream anyway,
moving on in half a year, always moving on,
no money no job no thing nothing.
A dream can't survive on nothing
But still, the dream grew inside me
despite what I'd been told.
I had it confirmed.
And, as the dream evolved, I was enlarged by it
I thrived, and so did my dream
Until the bleeding.
Blood without a cut, blood without a reason
without hope, without care,
it ripped my dream away from me
And the dream was no more.
Now, a cold emptiness, cold expression,
cold tears, a drowned sorrow
for a miscarried dream.