Christopher David Mears

Orange soda, whiskey, lime






Mid-day summertime;
Orange Soda,
Apple Whiskey,
Lime.

Wanted one more time.

Permanently affixed with Prime.

Said "we both must climb."

Present state of paradigm?

Not yet the sublime.

Wrong frequency?

Fine.

Mid-day summertime;
Orange Soda,
Apple Whiskey,
Lime.

Before one may transcend,
same one must mend.

Multidimensional, eliptical warp speeding.

Sanity ever fleeting.

Illustrating tragedy,
line after line.

Must bleed outside these.
Time after time.

Always fast-forward,
on pause, or rewind.


Mid-day summertime;
Orange Soda,
Apple Whiskey,
Lime.


Never here, never now and never live.

Space-time continuum currently misaligned.

Off-time, signature beat,
completion being an impossible feat.

114 chakras,
shocking ya,
sizzling the cranial meat.

My soul glows,
like hot coals.

My destiny is actually my goal.

What is my niche, what is my roll?

Mid-day summertime.
Orange soda,
Apple Whiskey,
Lime

© Poetry.com