trapped // poetry [completed]

16 - the caffeine won't make you less lonely

And when will I learn
That coffees are made for the mornings,
Not midnights
And that sleeping is best in the bed,
But not on the floor?
While my pillow writes sonnets
I open the windows and slowly
Get carried along with the wind
Right back home.
There I stroke strands of grass
With my pale, broken fingers
And shower my hair in the 5am dew
But the sun starts to rise
And the world once again
Becomes fit for the living
As the sleeping pills shatter my liver
And I wake on the carpet
Alone.