Coma
Coma longing stories
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miltonpigeon
miltonpigeon I have a compulsion to write.
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
This poem is about wanting love and almost having it; or at least thinking you almost have it.

Coma

As I lie in my black room, their voices move in the shadows from side to side by my ears, and I stare into the void.

I can smell the giggles of women outside of this sterile darkness which creates a tingle in my fingers; and the scent of my coma fades.

Reaching to touch the ebony plaster I taste a fresh wishing well; the clinking of tossed change dissolves the walls I face.

Seeing trees of orange and green with dizzy, darkened bark dancing to the rhythm of clicking clock hands of branches they leave.

Silhouettes of pink wings flying in a dry, yellow dream spreading through a blue day float away with their feathers.

The laughter and light of an amorphous love shapes the round aurora that their sound and shine pour Into me.

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