11:11

Some sort of wishy-washy magical mediocrity,
This random set of similar numbers
Grinning on the clock face;

I fall asleep with the lights on,
With liquor in my veins,
And I can’t figure if these are to
Ward off the memories of you
Or bring them back again;

They’ll say
I never knew what love was about.
You rarely
Showered me with grace.
But I suppose
I might break again
Should I see the wonder of your face.

I can never win you back.
My dreams all play in grey.
But, oh! All that I would give
To go back to that day.