Dream Dumpster

(I don’t usually write poetry. Finals week and to much Carl Jung does odd things to a person’s psyche).

Tear from me this thing that grows in the center of my soul,
Because it was never you that resided in that place, but a piece of destruction.
And I’d rather a bit of nothing take up that space, then the illusion I’ve cultivated into you.

The They all say, in the end, Me will grow into that place,
The They all say, in the end, it will stop crying out in despair
And The They may be right, but until then it will still be filled with nothing….A place filled with nothing.

But I’d rather a bit of nothing take up that space, then the illusion I’ve cultivated… that’s you.