Sunday

Work in progress

Satellite helmets sear through dreams- 

while bland popsicle sticks furiously slur distraught pianos.

Clattering of open windows ring through closed minds. 

Moonlit memories break out in a sweat, frantically dashing through the fields. 

Inexperience, the weapon every child wields.

Maniacal movements of tribal celebration, followed by Sunday night procrastination. 

Eyeballs, Eyeballs, flood the halls and classrooms- 

to peek on mondaine blessings of future sherlocks.

To seek the rare blessing of medical warlocks.

I collapse on efforts while shaking the hand of opportunity

Burning city of empathy glares at me through the blaze

Welcoming it, I stay there for what seems like days. 

Nonsense they speak, even the brightest of days burns to a bleak. 

Nonsense they seek, finger tips wreaking of beauty and cigarettes.

Windowsills of childhoods begin to chip.

No more coming home with a busted lip.

No more coming home.

Solving mysteries alone.

Paying for the phone. 

Sidewalks upon sidewalks careen.

Monochrome vision doesn't seem so obscene.

I can't go home, I can't go back to where I've been. 

Reviews

[Caitlin Lea]

Wow! This is very intriguing! Every line is so thought-provoking. I cannot pretend to understand it all, but the images are no less powerful. Interesting write...I will be coming back to this.

[yashsickle]

Thank you! Is there anything you would change?

[Caitlin Lea]

"I collapse on efforts while shaking the hand of opportunity"

This line is a little bit awkward. I like the sort of rehashing of a cliched idea (the whole shaking the hand of opportunity thing), but the phrasing it a little off. Collapsing ON efforts? Not sure that entirely makes sense.

"Nonsense they speak, even the brightest of days burns to a bleak."
Burning to a bleak...could work in an odd way, but it kinda doesn't sound quite right either.

Other than the small amount of awkward phrasing, this seems to be pretty good. :)