alone on the couch
surrounded by the background noise
of cars passing by, your
typical city life beyond this
box.
october creeps in like
a ghost
(or, perhaps
a spirit;
because ghosts are meant to scare.
i revel in its quiet loneliness)
and kisses this
cubicle with happy halloween's and
plastic skeleton decorations.
a stranger sits
a foot away from me
dry hair, tied into a bun
nonchalance on her face
and a guarded tiredness
that yearns to be noticed.
i see
myself
staring back at me
i am supposed to be alone
in this cubicle
YOU ARE READING
Miscontrued Sentences
诗歌No one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
