running driving sleeping
smoking going and going
books, once a vice now forgotten
glances thinking staring
gathering dust and toppling
hollow feeling beaten out by womp
hunched sitting smoking
rain and going and going
anxiety like a collar too tight
heartbeat twitching shaking
always cold and dozing
desire like a fork in the heart
obvious unavoidable inevitable
beaten down for now
hope like sun in the city
elusive peeking teasing
have to keep going and going
that's me taking a stab at poetry for the first time since maybe middle school. uh. I don't even know if it's coherent. or has any kind of flow. it's about as coherent and fluid as my decaying mind
ReplyDeletethis things clock is off, it's definitely 3:57 am right now
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