How long, how lost,
how
lonely
is the day?
The sun lies recumbent,
as I do:
languishing in cold storage,
perfectly preserved
in its hollow corner
of sky.
I'm
learning
that we're not unalike.
We burn, with equal intensity
and others, love best
to gaze at us,
from the furthest,
faraway plains.
I seem,
to bring naught,
but discomfort.
Wrapped in pain
like the fading aurora bloom,
of day,
I'm a solar-powered picana
so, please...
avert your eyes.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 7:53 PM UTC
How long, how lost,
how
lonely
is the day?
The sun lies recumbent,
as I do:
languishing in cold storage,
perfectly preserved
in its hollow corner
of sky.
I'm
learning
that we're not unalike.
We burn, with equal intensity
and others, love best
to gaze at us,
from the furthest,
faraway plains.
I seem,
to bring naught,
but discomfort.
Wrapped in pain
like the fading aurora bloom,
of day,
I'm a solar-powered picana
so, please...
avert your eyes.
Idk, kinda down.
Request permission to use this poem