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What my nightmares sing

Every single time, i filled these blank spaces with words,

I-----am-----reminded-----the-----chasm-----that's-----left

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Because I don't believe in myself or anything I ever write,

I am a cryptic wordsmith, who doesn't believe they have,

the tools to sculpt out perfection.

Callused fingers and blood drenched hands, hot around my neck,

as I choke the gift of life.

Because when I dream, those nightmares,

harrowing sounds drown out all hope,

that one day the flower can be left to grow.

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What my nightmares sing,

with red ringed eyes,

I am mortified that I die in such a sour state.