I want to do something dangerously impulsive
Heyo Friendo, the name's Pink! Welcome to my corner of the internet. I reblog a lot of art, and sometimes post my own ^-^
Between Jobs
An itch in my brain
asks for something to achieve
but there's nothing left.
Reality slips
through the cupped palms of my mind.
I'd rather not Be
.
"be what?" I don't know.
I crave fantasy worlds and
you make me feel real.
Why must my poems
hold any less value than those
by "professionals"?
Quiet Bedrooms
In the apartment,
the only roommate who can't
leave on the weekend.
Echoless
“Notice me!” I scream
to the empty, roaring winds.
There is no answer.
Stained Confidence
Deep breaths, in... and out.
Trembling hand, I draw with pen,
transform ink to art.
Sleepless
I lay in my bed
impossibly tired, yet
mind still wandering.
Necessities
Tap tap tap my foot,
leg bouncing, impatiently.
I-- I need to move,
need to go, need to
kick, run, jump, dance, talk, laugh, scream--
I need to leave and
never look again
at what I leave behind me.
I want-- I need to--
Corpses of the past
rise and walk the overworld.
They crave Player flesh.
.
Lurking beneath waves,
the drowned wait to pull sailors
to watery graves.
.
Buzzards peck away
at the hollow husks of men
buried in the sand.
Skeleton
The undead archer.
An arrow notched, taking aim.
Player pincushion.
Creeper
Explosive creature
left holes in your house and lawn.
Rebuilding, once more.
Enderman
Be careful, don't look--
you'll be lost in the depths of
their enchanted stare.
firework colors
explode across midnight skies.
See beauty; feel hope.
You okay?
Tired. Burning out.
Determined to continue,
with no time to sleep.
It has been a time
since I've written poetry.
I ponder my words,
counting syllables,
remembering how to write
simple, meaningful,
expression of thought.
Little comes to mind, and yet,
I write anyways.
.
I write for myself
as I always have; speaking
in patterns, for fun.