Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Sputnik

Why do I keep coming to these places? Attempting to siphon something into this void Vicarious joy, vicarious hope, still dream of the rope Can't cope with this anymore, the wound is forever sore I'm getting sick of trying, lying to myself a bit more Fuck your good health, choke on your worthless wealth Burn down another Newport, the tenth or twelfth
Request permission to use this poem
Written by
worn-down
33 / M / American
Published
Mar 23, 2023
Lines·Words
7·62
Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell worn-down how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write