There are some things that can't be helped,
Like the simple feeling of no belonging,
Or the sudden spurs of loneliness that
Seem to suck us in entirely in only a matter of minutes,
Triggered by a sentence or the empty void in your chest.
Even these hands,
As bruised and callused as they are,
With their mocking imitations of sophisticated conversations
And poetic dreams,
Look so desolate and reclusive to me...
Hell...I would be lying if I said I didn't try to stop it.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't try to fill that void up with something great
Enough to distract me.
But these hands can't lie.
They can only conceal the very words that
Love to idle over my lips,
The very words I'll never bring myself to say.
Because what's the worth of it if I'll just continue to lie to myself
That I am not alone
When the unsaid truth is that I am?
I am absolutely and utterly alone.
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Feels
PoesíaThose intense feelings that tangle their arms around your body and try to eat you alive, all wrapped up into this collection of poems. Enjoy.
