The Real World. - Poem by Hunter James
Welcome to the real world.
The once imperial mattress cold and hard, sands scattered around your head and sticky in your scalp. Your minds clouded with flashes of green and cold flesh playing 'Marco's' with no 'Polo's' in your untraceable mind. An unwanted presence snores stupidly beside you, you just want to be alone, to breathe amongst your own air. After all sleepwalking's as useful as shitting under supervision if your not alone. The wind is harsh outside and rain drips on your pillow from last nights open window. You fell asleep in summer now the winter is more alive than ever.
The real world is ungraspable to the subsiding delirium, birds don't hold their notes and breakfast tastes like dough. You close your eyes, your lying under the stars your head tilted back in pleasure. The sea of voices closes up on you like a thick blanket, your saliva tastes like somebody else's but your distorted sense of reality is still strong.
Open your eyes the real world is still waiting for you.
The real world you once told your parents was a myth is now punching you in the face, shredding off your blankets and spitting in your coffee. He shoved you into reality and threw the filing cabinet of your routine deep into the ocean. The air is more aged than usual, the disregarded love gets harder and harder to concentrate on. With each thought impending day the idea gets more arrogantly tranquil. The surviving dry brown leaves somewhat a menace, they only seem to represent the ignorance of your 'living in the present' theories.
The air speaks, the morning cries, the empty house howls.
Welcome to the real world, they say.
Its here to stay until next Friday.
Comments about The Real World. by Hunter James
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye