Member-only story
IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
To Gryffindor!
Prose Poetry
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Too close to death, a drone that flies
Explodes your dreams, a mosquito bite
Blood turns black, and the soul slides
What in the world are we living for?
Enough lullabies.
Climbing up the ladder — success, money,
Nice family, alibis, power
Always too close to die, gone sooner without goodbyes
Raids at the mansion just before the elections
Dumb to say everything will last forever
No foundations that gods fund.
Not a game, though.
It's plain, though. This world
distracts us
from the fundamentals
Lies like windows, while the truth suddenly
slaps
on our faces like a main door
This is hells-core.
No, don’t get me wrong though.
“Some bits of this world are beautiful, bro”.
I know.
“But I can’t close my eyes on the other half”.
