deepundergroundpoetry.com

Trying to Find What to Do with Myself

The day collects voices. Echoes.
All day long I can hear it,
The incessant hum caused by
My haunting loneliness and ache.

Sweat drips from my brow. It's
Crystalline,
A strange sort of chime,
It means I am alone.
I try to fill the hours

Like water jugs. Perfect lines
Of liquid. Perfect lines
Of thought, of action.
Or at least, til sleep comes.

There is not much worse
Than sleepless nights,
Being truly alone with oneself,
Nude, softly grasping.
toniscales
Written by toniscales (Lost Girl)
Published
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