It is another 3 AM night,
because you don't want to wash
the feeling of rust from your bones.
There is something about the way
time swims. A spring whisper
in the autumnal inferno of your thoughts.
You must get it down on paper.
Inspiration is hard to come by.
You let down your words
like Rapunzel waiting for rescue.
These old thoughts are the only handholds
you've known, a constant in this void of time.
You understand life at 3 AM:
how a cut thread can unravel
the entire soft-stitched fabric.
How their arms always pull away
first. How hard the air
can be in its emptiness.
How life is doing sign language
in the dark or juggling helium balloons.
How this pen scratching is loose soil
in tornado alley. Are you proud of yourself
writing 3 AM poems no one will see?
This is the dark side of the moon.
There is no catharsis
when the only thing taken from you
is your youth.
---
apr 22, 2017
sorry i haven't been posting because these have been written late at night and i'm tired and wattpad likes to dick with formatting if i copy/paste so it's just this huge hassle
YOU ARE READING
watterson
Poetryan experimental attempt to write a poem a day for the month of april spoiler alert: i did it
