Sleepy Poet

let me sleep
as the night bleeds stars.
i am not a poet anymore
and the stones i have gathered
are the burden of my unwritten words.

the window is ajar
and there's not much to be seen
outside, just the shadows
of my half-sick mind when i feel more guilty
for all the things
sleeping in my iris.

don't feel sorry for my pale dreams.
they are what have been keeping me warm
in times of asphyxia and calm rage.

if you can,
(oh! if you can)
save me.
i am caged by blind metaphors
and i can't carry myself
and i can't go back
and wake up again.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2014 Photobucket


  1. Awesome, your poem is in touch, and the added bell in the background, so cool too.

  2. Never feel sorry for the pale dreams...