The night is bittersweet like ecstasy
Revered by the paintings we paint
Burnished smiles aching by the lake
Silent as we speak
Listless waves come back to me
I remember your name
In an antiquated sea of marigold
As ripe as the words we use
Whistling blues, seldom here
Waiting for me
Is this a sign?
Watching the leaves falling
Sleep is a privilege
And I can't sleep tonight
The moon opines
Who's going to be popular now?
I eat the sky
I ride the bus to somewhere new
Writing love letters
At night, I wonder are you gay?
With your dark triad traits
Do you think of me like I think of you?
Resting my elbows on oak
Stained with cigarette ash
I can't help but think of you
Smiling at your cold embrace
I was a king in my dreams
But when I'm with you
I feel like nothing
Drowning in a faceless dream
Enveloped by everything.
-
Author:
Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 12th, 2024 12:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments2
I haven't cried at a poem in a while... but now I have. Yes, sleep is a privilege. Astute observation!
This is a beautiful poem. Keep up the good work.
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