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The Mind

Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)

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With this rose of the night I proclaim your love upon my crown With this sash to blind my eyes I can see only thoughts of you With this rose of pure white I grieve purity upon my black lips With this dress of red I display my burning passion With the rose of crimson I offer you my heart

Posted by: Questioned Sanity Thu May 31, 2012 @ 07:40am

If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.

Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.

When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.

— Alaska Gold

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