344 of 662

by Ethan Womack

Darkness is staring into my mind...
Will you fade with me...
Will you be my friend...
Will you even be at all?...
Is anything actually actual...
Is actuality a real word...
Doesn't anything exist?...
What about nothing?...How does that suit you?...
Will tomorrow be our last days?
Daisies grow out in a daze for days in the field where we grazed
for many years too long, until the cold killed them back to life
when everything got warm and we all laughed, and played, in the
wide open places where nothing ever escaped, or had any room to
move, until it's all cut down, and rearranged in a grave site of
small yellow plants, laid to rest on a glossy green floor of envy

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Poetry: Dreams

by Ethan Womack

Poetry: Dreams

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