It is 8:43 at night, and already,
I am alone.
Already I inhale,
and the length of the night thickens the air,
curls like smoke, like
blood
and I miss you
and I love you
and I will continue to
miss you
and love
you
through this whole
goddamn
night.
YOU ARE READING
One Side Whispers.
PoetryA book of poetry for lonely nights, the smell of cement, the way your smile looks after it's rained, and the pure paralysis of knowing you.
