While I sleep,
the word it spins.
It turns and turns,
while I'm not there.
While I wake,
the word stands still.
Media spins,
Shows the spinning..
I scroll down post,
of friends and colleagues,
dancing away the then young night
I can't help but cry,
of the night they had,
the one I missed.
But when I go to these nights,
I stand up on ledges,
And watch the spinning.
I look at city lights,
that glare out the stars.
That I stare at from my window,
in my bedroom as I wish,
wish to be more confident,
to get drunk and high,
as I look in the mirror,
I tell myself to fly.
And I go back to the ledge,
and I let the wind take me.
But this is not me.
I can't like this high lifestyle
So I sleep while they spin.
And I cry,
because I miss my friends.
YOU ARE READING
Indentations
PoetryA book filled with my poems. Not all with be great, not all will make you cry. My hope is that all will make you think.
