Dream Dark Stories

Category: Poetry

  • Day Two Hundred & Eleven, July 29th, 2024

    Hi-ho and hello.

    Life. Oooh life.

    By: M. R. Vega

    It’s the density of the cuff to my cerebral cortex.

    If you believe the victor, do you think of decking the brim?

    I’ve been off hand, as you are so I am.

    The church on the candle strikes doom.

    Tick tock off the arc check the joint, take to watch.

    Its cash off, trip to this, calm to  forget.

    All for competition to make the test.

    Set a certification deemed nothing on the horizon.

    Search the day, you’ll mulch to know the loudness echo.

    Echo.

    Echo.

    C’est La Vie

    Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. I thank you for the support and coming back and again to take a gander.

    Thank you for being you and staying awesome. Thank you.

    NOSCE TE IPSUM

  • Day Two Hundred & One, July 19th, 2024

    Hi-ho and hello.

    Alabaster Stone

    By: M. R. Vega

    Alabaster stone, carve me a tomb to pay debts ahead for the home that I find alone and barren.

    Alabaster stone take me to the throne, to the cage that will become my forever home.

    Alabaster stone bring me your sheen, it’s translucency forever mirroring the many, your curved stone cold to lips bare and bleeding.

    Alabaster stone, whole people cold and languid to the bone, stupefied to the core for nothing more than the gore that is the screens before, pale, soft and white, porous and leeching like the teeth that clench.

    Alabaster stone, woe me the worries of the cage that keeps me barren and stolid, let me shake and stir, but don’t touch through the evanescence and translucency of an empty promise.

    Alabaster stone, shine your cool white light of earthen trembling cage around my bones it’s sedimentary reason for being scrapped and bruised, keep me still through and bore for what it is.

    Alabaster stone, keep me true to the whole of what is you, what is me, alabaster stone shine your sheen it’s translucency to the truth of what may be forever your cold languid white blank screen.

    Alabaster stone, carve me a tomb to pay debts ahead for the cage that I find alone and barren.

    C’est La Vie

    Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. I thank you for the support I see each day, I thank you for being you and coming back again and again.

    I pray your day and night be worthy and splendid. Stay safe and have a good day.

    NOSCE TE IPSUM

  • Day One Hundred & Ninety-Six, July 14th, 2024

    Hi-ho and hello.

    I’m haunted. Every day I wake knowing, lamenting in quite remorse and I sit haunted. 15 years and counting. If only the cries and shudders to stop were heard, if only, if only.

    Stupidity had its day, leaving a bairn to be raised by wolves of the masculined type. Where did lost heads find empty necks? Only forward towards the brim of something new and the same.

    A monotony, the dichotomy of what is all too similar, it’s surreal. Surreality for the absurdity for being alive in this role we call life. Call for life, called purpose. Come on keep me alive and clap five times. Five times to make me yours.

    Don’t know if you’re seeing it, catching anything amiss, know of what’s missing?

    The missing missing piece…come on five times clap, clap, clap, clap, clap…five times, five times. Clap.

    Clap.

    Clap.

    Keep it alive,

    A testimony to life,

    Keep it alive

    Clap

    Clap

    Clap.

  • Day One Hundred & Ninety-Four, July 12th, 2024

    Hi-ho and hello.

    . . .

    By: M. R. Vega

    An ellipsis to start, a beginning long from where we’re at, I take my palms to my eyes and squeeze out the anguish of time I’ll spend and wonder where the it’s all gone.

    Checking my hands, waving away the monotonous diatribe, monologue me this backward cuz this isn’t sweeping itself up.

    I find myself on the run, fleeing in place, stomping on the same grounds for eons now and you wonder to why I haven’t taken to the river.

    Why not let my worry run like a baptized soul, maybe just the feet would do. Dunk a toe, wipe away the moisture. Don’t feel much in change, feel more than lies, dunk a toe, maybe for a second time for extra measure, for extra purity.

    I take to the sky instead, to the rhythmic splendor of the space between you and I, removing the baptismal opportunity to be resurrected though from ash and soot. Watch me burn to be what I become, like a wolf from the pack howl and run, howl and flee. My pack is hungry