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Description
Do people notice when
my eyes are
empty?
And when my sentences come out
as enjambment
only?
I cannot sleep - I cannot dream - tonight.

I couldn't feel my feet anymore,
as they were being sucked in,
by the mire of the world.
I could hear her voice though,
in my ear,
everywhere.
I heard it coming from my room,
I guess I'm just writing this letter to no one.

When I dream, I dream awake:
his voice, her voice,
around us both,
safe and sound, again.
We're at the top of a staircase
to nowhere,
throwing letters into the wind,
and tumbling
slowly
down

Because falling never felt,
so alive, so blissful.
They never tell you,
about the excruciating distance,
that dares to amputate,
your arms, legs -
you become paralyzed,
and the ink comes out,
like jagged scribbles.

Paralysed, I cannot see.
My mind can't breathe.
Lost in starlight,
at three A.M.
desaturated,
the letters pour out,
of their own accord,
and it's just me
and the moon.

We don't look at the sky,
and wonder if they're looking,
because we know they are sleeping.
So we look to the solar system,
to guide our hearts,
and these words,
and letters,
to the moon.

Why are they sleeping?
Why can't we wake them?
They could be
lonely
too.

Description
Do people notice when
my eyes are
empty?
And when my sentences come out
as enjambment
only?
I cannot sleep - I cannot dream - tonight.

I couldn't feel my feet anymore,
as they were being sucked in,
by the mire of the world.
I could hear her voice though,
in my ear,
everywhere.
I heard it coming from my room,
I guess I'm just writing this letter to no one.

When I dream, I dream awake:
his voice, her voice,
around us both,
safe and sound, again.
We're at the top of a staircase
to nowhere,
throwing letters into the wind,
and tumbling
slowly
down

Because falling never felt,
so alive, so blissful.
They never tell you,
about the excruciating distance,
that dares to amputate,
your arms, legs -
you become paralyzed,
and the ink comes out,
like jagged scribbles.

Paralysed, I cannot see.
My mind can't breathe.
Lost in starlight,
at three A.M.
desaturated,
the letters pour out,
of their own accord,
and it's just me
and the moon.

We don't look at the sky,
and wonder if they're looking,
because we know they are sleeping.
So we look to the solar system,
to guide our hearts,
and these words,
and letters,
to the moon.

Why are they sleeping?
Why can't we wake them?
They could be
lonely
too.