Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2020
We stare at each other, just us two, all alone in this quiet room.
Paper thin walls, tv on, but all we do is sit and stare.
The cold fills the room, and I don’t mean the temperature.
The raw, the emptiness, the numb is all that floats through, filling out the spaces.
I look at her, and she looks at me; but I am her and she is me.
Meg Thompson
Written by
Meg Thompson  28/F/Indiana
(28/F/Indiana)   
  401
     --- and Norman Crane
Please log in to view and add comments on poems