Poem #157


Amazing poetry by a talented writer.

Pen to paper

I could paint a perfect picture
of this ceiling I’ve been staring at
for hours. The lines, the imperfections,
the spider building a web in the corner.
Even the spider is building something and I’m
just stuck here with my empty head and
hollow heart.

It’s hard to have a vision for the future
when you don’t know where your present is headed.
It’s hard to fade in your early years, watching
your dreams getting further away with every step you
take thinking you’re making them reality.

From one crisis to the next, from one cigarette
to a whole pack, from one glass to a bottle,
from one day to another. Baby steps turning into
abrupt halts. Youth turning into ashes.

I want to take my little black dress for a night out.
I want to move to the sound of music.
I want to see those far away cities, go…

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