Caught within a dream,

repeating thoughts swirling around eddies

like a lost fish swimming in circles,

stuck in his fishbowl.

.

These ideas want to control me,

but I won’t let this cloud

of flowery romanticism catch me,

even though the side effects

of writing sappy poetry

in scripted handwriting

have already set in.

.

Then in a moment of lucidity

the poem is carefully and elegantly

scribbled out,

almost in regret of having to do so

but the idea is already there.

.

My efforts of avoiding these ideas

have been ruined

by writing them down once more.

This is the vicious cycle of a single lover

attempting to breathe underwater

alone.

_____________

Just a little something I wrote a while ago. I still like it so I thought I’d post it. I know most people don’t like or read poetry, but I hope someone enjoys it.