losing, shaking, in the cold blue light,
that throws patterns on the bathroom floor,
a flickering, something shattering,
no one knows him anymore,
music blares in through the walls so
paper thin, it seeps like smoke
inside his lungs where air is forced,
a final breath on which to choke-
wrapped around a tinted view
of nothingness made shining bright,
he see’s the truth, instead of hollowness,
in clear skin marked in the night.
if before this he had missed you,
it never even tipped the sky;
now there’s a queue of people waiting
and a window three floors high,
someone take him in their arms
as stars pour down torrents of rain,
someone take him, never leave him
to let the darkness take his pain
YOU ARE READING
3am
Poetrythe kind of poems you only write when it's raining and 3am. book cover design by @_wacKo x
