laying in my bed, trying to write this poem
Being in a small town, wishing somewhere bigger and brighter was my home.
A place where people don't sleep.
Where the night owls thrive.
A place where everything is always alive.
I look outside my window and see nothing but darkness and an empty street.
Nothing but one street lamp, how does everyone feel complete?
Do people ever get lonely and want something more?
Doesn't anyone always want an open door?
I want to look out my window, and see action.
Taxi's and people and human interaction.
Not some empty street that's a depressing distraction.
I want something more, bright lights galore, a place where sleep doesn't have to be an option anymore.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
laying in my bed, trying to write this poem
Being in a small town, wishing somewhere bigger and brighter was my home.
A place where people don't sleep.
Where the night owls thrive.
A place where everything is always alive.
I look outside my window and see nothing but darkness and an empty street.
Nothing but one street lamp, how does everyone feel complete?
Do people ever get lonely and want something more?
Doesn't anyone always want an open door?
I want to look out my window, and see action.
Taxi's and people and human interaction.
Not some empty street that's a depressing distraction.
I want something more, bright lights galore, a place where sleep doesn't have to be an option anymore.
