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My friends Write of lovers they miss Everyday. I don't. I write Of a knight in shining armor Who has So peacefully rescued me From Terrifying, Fire-breathing, All-nighters. It pains me That in these next few days Away from his embrace I am left Staring at his weaponry: Hot dog pillows Duvets Comforters. With them, He's won many battles. But now I'm back here, Locked up in this tower of Unfinished requirements. The essays Have destroyed the stairwell. Lab reports Have blocked up my doors And he left me, Sleep left me A damsel in distress With caffeine and homework Running in my bloodstream. I peek out of my window, Stare at the ground below, Still not a sign of Sleep anywhere. My friends Write of lovers they miss Everyday. I don't. I write of one I miss Every night.
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Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
Elegy to My Sleep
My friends Write of lovers they miss Everyday. I don't. I write Of a knight in shining armor Who has So peacefully rescued me From Terrifying, Fire-breathing, All-nighters. It pains me That in these next few days Away from his embrace I am left Staring at his weaponry: Hot dog pillows Duvets Comforters. With them, He's won many battles. But now I'm back here, Locked up in this tower of Unfinished requirements. The essays Have destroyed the stairwell. Lab reports Have blocked up my doors And he left me, Sleep left me A damsel in distress With caffeine and homework Running in my bloodstream. I peek out of my window, Stare at the ground below, Still not a sign of Sleep anywhere. My friends Write of lovers they miss Everyday. I don't. I write of one I miss Every night.
What has hell week done to my poetry?
dominique-espiritu
Written by
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
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