I wait hours for a minute to tick by.
Roaming from place to place.
I'm spending to much time awake.
I tell myself,
It's not that late.
Yet somehow its 4:08.
Maybe it's the noise,
There is no noise,
Maybe it's nothing,
There is something wrong.
So used to it you don't notice.
Time ticks by,
It's not that late,
Yet somehow it's 4:08.
I can't sleep.
I'm too tired.
I can't think.
It only causes stress.
I can't stop.
I never will I fall down.
YOU ARE READING
The Damning Of My Poet Soul
PoetryAnd all it took was one neat paragraph in pen. Enjoy some small teen me starting from like 2016 to like idk late 2018 I think early2019 I'm doing some rereading and retitling cuz numbers idk Thank you readers for over 4k reads. like is it good tho...
