it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake
with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other.
how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars
and my face running away
up into the sky
looking for the moon?
morning but not really
More by ender
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this is not an AI generated poem.
cryptic writings
esoteric arrays
the lord of doors
generated and gone in an instant
we are obsolete
are we obsolete?
-
four years
i sit and stare out the window
stare out the window at the brown dead grass
the dirty snow melting into muddy slush
the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks
-
face
my face is a cage
and the doves inside are suffocating
in a pile of their own shit
my arms are broken wings
and their featherless forms are useless
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