"Come for me,
set me free.
Invade the darkness
beside me.

A distant dove,
the moon above;
they savor a sky
that should be mine."

----

Man, I haven't wavered this much on posting something in a long time.

I started out of a dream I no longer remember with the opening stanza of this poem on the tip of my tongue, and quickly scribbled it down before it was gone. From there, I wrote this slowly over the day; picking at it, letting it cool, and picking at it some more. As such, it feels a little more processed than I typically go for, but there's enough raw emotion here that I think it makes up for it. Once you read something so many times, however, it's hard to tell anymore.

I dunno particularly what spurred this piece out of me, especially NOW of all times. But I'm so desperate to write these days that, like a dog at the dinner table, I'll take any scrap of inspiration thrown my way. So what if we're carving away at old wounds that probably should be left where they lay? I guess that's what you could call an occupational hazard.

Also, I know this is the kinda thing people don't particularly like to see (or perhaps see too much whenever the idea of poetry comes up) but it is what it is. I've been negative as hell lately in my writing and I can't seem to do much about it right now. For once, I feel the need to apologize for it, only cause I keep saying I'm gonna quit and I haven't. I started a couple "lighter" pieces lately, but I couldn't quite string them together. /shrug.

Anywho, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. Comments/critique welcome as always. I've already written half an essay, so I'll cut my usual ramblings short. 'Til next time.

Oh, and despite the tone of this poem, have a happy upcoming Thanksgiving everyone (or whatever the equivalent holiday is for you.)