How do they know?

michael-chandler-1 Poems

Night is always still and being alone is reasonable stuck on a couch with hands in my pants like Al Bundy I enjoy the old animations to rekindle my youth At first I just knew it to be late night programming but now its a laughing fit for the bald and the lonely callers longing for that flirtatious, accepting voice How do they know the lonely are with the late night? When did the early hour become the time to persuade love, lust, and empowerment of oneself? the laughing stops and I wonder how much insecurity there must be under the distant stars How many of us wish we could go to sleep? maybe its that unbearable coldness on the other side of the bed