menu Menu
Dreams That Speak to the Sad Girl
A Poem
By Rose Rutkowski Posted in Uncategorized on July 23, 2020 0 Comments
Todays Previous Next


A cliff.

Below: clouds, a river of them

Flowing between

The valley of my heart.

The sun sunk beneath

The red cotton wisps.

Is this

A river of blood

Or the river of souls?

I’m turning.


A whirlwind unpinned and flipped

Inside out.

behind these irises

I feel it pick me up.

Catapult me over mountains

And down into

The deepest part of myself.


I wilt and wither

On a ledge.

My legs

Are those legs?

Are they stems?

Cut out from under me.

And with my

Dying petals,

Reach out to grasp


It doesn’t hold.

I’m falling.

Falling into the abyss of unknowns


I wish I didn’t know.

In the darkness I hear laughter,

At first comforting and kind.

It slowly morphs

Into unhinged rage.

I wake on a rasp.

Who is driving?

I cannot ask;

My voice box broke.

I reach with rubber arms

Towards a wheel

I cannot reach.

My eyes are weak.

Am I driving?

I can’t drive from the back seat.

Why can’t I stay awake?

This hill is steep.

If I can’t make it to the front…

I have to wake up.

Fire now.

Hot around me

in my metal cage.

Being in the driver’s seat

Doesn’t mean much,

Then the wheels stick to the road.

Burning rubber assaults my senses

I’m lost.

I do the only thing I can;

I drive us all

off the nearest cliff

and into the sea.

I wake before we hit.

I’m lost.

Or found.

But without finding

Whatever I needed to find.

And it’s lost,

Whatever it is.

Maybe it’s me.

I’m so scared.

I keep moving.

Always keep moving.



Never accept that some things

Aren’t meant to be found.


That includes yourself.

I will always wake before I find it.

Dreams ethereal Freeform nightmares Poem Poetry sad Verse

Previous Next

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Cancel Post Comment