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hieronymus_b0schPoems
It's the night times that are the hardest. The image of that cute couple in the coffee shop from earlier flickers through my mind. I look up at the TV for a distraction, only to see a tender embrace, loves first kiss. I search for the remote on the side of my bed where a body should be, brush a hand across the cold fabric. I put on some music. "And all I could do was cry" Crying, Etta, is futile. Each tear hammers down on my hollow emptiness like a drum, a-lone, a-lone, a-lone. Alone. The alarm clock on my bedside table ticks and ticks, waiting and waiting, ticking and waiting. What are you waiting for? Time to go to sleep.
0
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Night Time
It's the night times that are the hardest. The image of that cute couple in the coffee shop from earlier flickers through my mind. I look up at the TV for a distraction, only to see a tender embrace, loves first kiss. I search for the remote on the side of my bed where a body should be, brush a hand across the cold fabric. I put on some music. "And all I could do was cry" Crying, Etta, is futile. Each tear hammers down on my hollow emptiness like a drum, a-lone, a-lone, a-lone. Alone. The alarm clock on my bedside table ticks and ticks, waiting and waiting, ticking and waiting. What are you waiting for? Time to go to sleep.
Written by
hieronymus_b0sch
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
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