Detective Cope
Every night i come home
to the dreams of my very own hope.
Drip Drop. Drip Drop.
What is it... that i feel rolling off these... cold, hardened stones
Lying under these two microscopes
that intake the pop
of my bones
Staring into a screen
when all i want to is Scream
Silence. Silence!
That is all i want to hear, rather than all this blah-blah
And I close my microscopes
to Shut Down the creations
Of my wah-wah
After this long night, I look out
for when the sun comes out.
Revealing the beauty of those... out
I'd grab my camera and go, with no doubt.
Widening my vision, away from the little creations
And, I will go on an adventure
to do some experimentations...
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.