you tilt your head
as though in contemplation
vacant eyes
and a vacant mind-
as empty
as the superficial poetry
of a dead poet.
you brood over
sterile thoughts,
talking to the walls
has been like therapy
for a while now.
your young years
have wasted you away,
so how does it matter
that you lament
even in your sleep now?
YOU ARE READING
the blue and the solace
Poetrya poetry, thoughts and an excerpts collection. - #8 in poetry - #2 in poem
