This journal is almost full.
I've but twelve pages left.
The person who's brought me here,
I know her well.
Or, at least,
I like to think I do.
The woman behind the pen
filling the spaces with emotion and thought
otherwise left to the screaming void.
She doesn't know if they'll help,
but at least the drooling demons
will have something to chew on.
The woman behind the screen,
so distracted by videos,
that the fiends go hungry,
scratching through her skin.
Yet, they are silenced by dreamless nights,
waiting for the rise of the workday.
The woman behind this journal
with hundreds of words written
as the soul aches and glows.
I'd like to think I know her,
or, at least,
as well as she knows me.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoetryPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
