the nighttime dangles its emptiness
refusing to caress the dawn
the passion it drains out of us
long lost memory
of something which once was
it is hard to remember the feeling
I lay on my back
old bed
old mattress
old, dirty blankets
I lay next to a woman
a woman, who promised me forever
forever, it was such a short amount of time
2: 31 AM - eyes wide open
I stare out into the black
the black pasted hard against the off white ceiling
a ceiling where tiny raised images protrude
ancient asbestos
textured, for a textured time
raised images, uneven
uneven like life
I stare up at their opaque emptiness
attempting to make pictures out of their tiny forms
like cloud worship
like cloud daydreaming
I wonder what they have to tell me
I wonder what promises they will make
promises, which never seem to last
like love
like life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem