I’ve spent time I’d rather not count
hoping fruitlessly,
by an impenetrable sense of obligation
that can only belong to the delusional,
with the last specimen of hope
whose blood I have drained dry,
just waiting
for a disappointment
that I now expect.
I wake up every morning with
hopes of you,
and rush out of bed as though I haven’t waited months
just to hear you say something,
just something
only once…
I come home every night with
erased expectations
that dutifully regenerate
in stubbornly constant dreams
haunted by your face
Wake up.
It’s a new day
Just like yesterday
and every day before that
were meant to be.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
I’ve spent time I’d rather not count
hoping fruitlessly,
by an impenetrable sense of obligation
that can only belong to the delusional,
with the last specimen of hope
whose blood I have drained dry,
just waiting
for a disappointment
that I now expect.
I wake up every morning with
hopes of you,
and rush out of bed as though I haven’t waited months
just to hear you say something,
just something
only once…
I come home every night with
erased expectations
that dutifully regenerate
in stubbornly constant dreams
haunted by your face
Wake up.
It’s a new day
Just like yesterday
and every day before that
were meant to be.
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