And I put the music down.
This time around,
I hear the chiming of night animals,
I hear the drizzling drops, two stories down.
It's always been raining there,
It seems.
The air conditioning roars outside the window.
And someone,
Somewhere,
Is digging a grave for someone else.
I learned not to light the cigarette,
longer than a second.
I learned some roads are never traveled,
For valid reasons.
I learned that moon can go in hiding,
Despite a clear night sky.
I learned that, sometimes,
Man' would truly pick a friend over a lover.
Fold your eyes,
Stretch your neck,
Wash your face.
Tries to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
It's three in the morning.
PoesíaA small collection of poems which I write when I could not sleep. Or (mostly) of my personal experiences.
