• avery_strangefriend 20w

    It was a dream of clockwork trains.
    Nostalgic wounds and burning rain.
    Of stepping stones and broken dolls,
    and animals who know it all.
    It was a cure. It was an ill.
    Never stopping. Always still.
    It was a castle built from time.
    Jumping hearts and winding spines.

    It was a wise, naive old chap;
    too petrified to run the map.
    But all in all I must explain:
    It was a dream of clockwork trains.

    It was a house where no-one lived.
    A meat-dressed lie of truth and grief.
    A screw to fill the cracking skulls,
    where floating tears would never fall.
    It was a dark in blinding light,
    was guidance to a darker plight.
    A mission lost before begun
    however close to hope we run.

    It was the sun locked up in ice.
    Blurred, yet perfectly precise.
    Tapping nails and bubbling skin
    seems to be where Hell begins.

    And if they knew, they never said
    that some poor girls are better dead.
    But as they love, then so we loathe.
    For what they love: their spite doth grow.
    It was a show of great disdain.
    Worship, greed and nameless names.
    But in the end, to be, it came:
    It was a dream of clockwork trains.

    It was pure dressed up as obscene.
    Despair, repair and in-between.
    Plagues and hoards and travelling skies.
    The ones who saw had closed their eyes.

    It was a need to be undone.
    A future that would grow so numb.
    Dirtied knees and armoured hearts,
    and shapeless, formless works of art.
    They'd run and creep and crawl and chase.
    "It's better than the quaking place."
    Supposed I, on a rising down.
    There were some times I swore I'd drown.
    Or fall and crack my spilling head.
    But at least then I'd find a bed.

    A frightening stroll I did endure.
    And one that I am wholly sure
    has cured me of my sanity,
    and gifted me calamity.

    A torment of the deepest sort.
    A womb who's contents I'd abort.
    But after all the spoil and pain;
    'Twas but a dream of clockwork trains.
    I was submerged. Pinned down with chains,
    yet still I dreamed of clockwork trains.
    No pill nor potion ever changed
    that same old dream of clockwork trains.
    ©avery_strangefriend