It's 2 a.m.
My soft feet meet the hard wooden floor
And it creaks beneath me
And I wonder how it would be if I left.
It's 2 a.m., the morning will rise in a few hours,
And my heart aches for him.
But he's Six-Feet-Deep and his lungs are still full of seawater,
Green and slimy,
And he can no longer be what he used to be
He can never accomplish the dreams he had.
It's two in the morning
And I wonder
How it would be
If I was eternal
Like him.
YOU ARE READING
Romantic Helplessness
Poetryromance is always in my mind and yet I'm not good at it.
