Always in the poem
there are no tears
between the line
but we will get the fear
and pretend that's fine.
We fall short
and say "ah"
to be the final word.
We must ****
the November creep
waiting until the end of the year
throwing the days
that make you depress
by the message
in a fortune cookie.
Maybe,
by hoping to feel present
in the short future
on the dream we have
will be the last wishes.
We are all in pain
waiting for time
to the monotonous sound of the clock
ticking on the wall.