my nights are spent thinking, when the moon
only exists to light the way and the sky is an
expanse, holding a mass of d w i n d l i n g
hopes and an infinite numbness that echoes
in the stark silence of the dark. it is rather ironic,
i think each time. the night is supposedly an
end to a day, to another life, yet it only acts
as another space for the pain to live out,
to simply exist.
so, when the sun wakes and
another day, another life rises from the ashes
of the night, i do not wait for regenerated hopes
and a finite sense of strength that fills every
cell in my body with the idea of being alive.
i simply think of existing and wait the for
the cycle to start over and over
again and again
and again.
YOU ARE READING
set free
Poetrya cluster of thoughts, hidden below the very folds of my subconscious
