Ive worked every job in this town
The cities are unemployed
Every chance or opportunity
Burned to ground
The bridges I used to cross
Just a sinking stone
Now im starting to think
The world is not me
Places used to dream, and breathe
Now its just ripple effects
See myself trying to get it
Separate from energy
Tearing back
Concentrate on non existence
Spread across too thin
Another envelope day
Put in this box
I hope to receive blindly
It will all make sense
Tomorrow
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Author:
bones (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 15th, 2026 09:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Is there a reason why we leave sleep to face the day?
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
In a sense I hear that putting off till tomorrow works but in another it is sleep that gives us direction. Nicely said
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