Five a.m. home, wet hair and clothes piled in the corner. Streets abandoned, no sound about. I don't know if it's really home, but it's where what I have is. Before friends abound, music all around. Still I look, as though I am home and looking for a face in the crowd. Something recognizable, something close but knowing full well it's not there and I won't find it. Similarities can be imagined. Empy room, empty floor, empty heart looking for a place to rest. Twenty pins out of my hair, counted on the counter, not tired, not awake...still breathing somewhere inside.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment