Waking up at midnight
I woke up at midnight. I think slightly sleepy inspires a state of artistic zen.The lines are rather long and the poem is pretty short, but it's the first poem I've been inspired to write since I've gotten home from Ann Arbor.
What am I to you
When you wake in the weary moonlight and you
Find me speckled with the bread crumbs on your kitchen table and
The memory of me trickles in while you pour the last drop of milk and
You sit hearing the clock chipping away at its hours and they almost
Sound like footsteps of two lovers but the
Thought is too horrible and instead you choose to hear the
Air whirring on as the air bleeds out of your lungs and you
Sit watching the sun illuminate as the mist transforms into
Smooth gossamer ghosts in the
Dead of dawn.
Dead.
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