Author: Toni Burauer
If you cry yourself into a dream,
into the meadows of purple grass
and pink clouds.
Watching the tea cups float in the air,
spilling their foamy marshmallows dripping
with clumps of chocolate powder that have
not absorbed into the milk each time
they run into a watermelon tree.
You can taste the bitterness in the ocean,
with the green and silver scaly
fins of the princess mermaid that
live under its craggy surface of sand paper.
The walls composed of peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches, slowly absorb the briskly
orange colored water and start to buckle under.
The wave that waits for you by the meadow
has devoured you in its drooling mouth.
Once you have crashed into the ground,
you must wait for the stabbing pain to shatter,
but you only make a small imprint in the
raspberry peach jell-o that has yet to settle.
There is no use in attempting to back flip,
the struggle will only pull you down
into the depths, whose black lankey arms
try to catch you in a game of crazy eights.
You choke on a spicy anguish that fights
to be swallowed, as the fear burns your
wide black eyes, as you are consumed into
the murky cell you now call home.
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