I was tired of this
Feeling as my art betrays me
This is not who I am yet it pull at me all the same
I do not always speak in rhymes and riddles
Rather, I live somewhere in the middle
I can let go of the emotional tug
And live, simply breathe and live
But my nature is exists in the other realm
I think of her, of what it could be
I think of her eyes and how they looked at me
I wonder, I wounded what she could see
In me
She held me
I held her
She fell asleep in my arms and I apologized
She held my hand, like it was hers. And it was.
But then tomorrow I go
To
My death perhaps
Would
It end like this?
After all I've passed with?
I suppose it is the same for those who have passed
Before me
Time will tell
If my mistakes would be too
Grave
I miss you, you were my blessing.
The key.
12:04
YOU ARE READING
Two Five Nine
PoetryA collection of poems , all written at midnight during the Covid-19 Pandemic. Streams of consciousness, ranging from all ends of the emotional spectrum.
