yeah it's not always poems for me
my notebook is full of all sorts of random little anecdotes and stories, and random scribbles
one thing i was tempted to write down was a very odd remark i heard when i was purchasing something from a store
cashier: how's your day been so far?
me: nothing special, could be better
cashier: well on the bright side, it could always be worse. you could have leprosy
anyhoo, to be back on topic, here's a random poem i wrote at like 1am ages ago
are these memories real?
have i been dreaming my life away?
maybe i was just sleeping
imagining a better day
but the dream has turned to ****
the nightmare everlasting
lost within my own mind
my hands cold and grasping
can never reach the other side
can never quite pull through
ever stuck within the dream
with these memories of you