How did we end up here again?
-At this point in the road.
In this cold, cruel place
Far from anywhere we might lust after.
Where nothing breaths but us.
Where the moon bends down
And touches the wet grass
Before retreating back into the arms of the sky?
Here, where all we can ever feel
Is a feeling of empty and terrible sadness-
Of absolute and terrible solitude.
When we both know we could be happy
But chose instead to dwell on darker things,
Those that manifest themselves under beds at night-
Until we ourselves become them.
YOU ARE READING
Perpetual emotions.
PoetryMost of these poems were written late at night, or in the early hours of the morning.
