quiet blue atomosphere.

// at 11am


poetry comes to life

Mother brought out the slates to clean

and yes, a

Turtle shell hides in hell.

these thoughts become memories, I think.


A boy is friends with two best girls

But can’t seem to become

less lonely in the days to come

Because that boy is me




                                      They— trespassed my heart and burned my brain


Oh, this brain on portable trials

For solitude. numb is in pain

but pain goes away.

Feminist cycles. emo misguided

Rhymes are lame, anyway


where—a sad ballad of pencils moves

towards a toe on the cliff. Slowly laying face down. So

confused even with the help.

                                     I am becoming


                                     at 11am. but who? //


©Dawson Lehman



About dawsoleh

poet. writer. student. hipster. cowboy. friend.
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