It's one of those nights,
I say, like it means
anything at all.
I'm writing quotes
on my arms like it
could do something
other than mock me.
The computer glow,
a mockery of a
thin halo in a dark room.
When lavender and vanilla musk
isn't doing anything
for the lump in my throat;
I feel like crying.
But my eyes are
as dry as my lips
and I have a bad habit
of cutting out my tongue to keep
a semblance of silence.
Too tired to sleep
and as empty as my mug,
I feel like a neon sign
that's too busy being
sage green to do anything.
YOU ARE READING
burning roses
Poetry[Previously called "A Thousand Thoughts Like Shattered Glass"] These are poems that I write in an attempt to cope and I write them hoping that they will help not only me, but other people who read them too. I'd love to hear what you think of them...
