Monthly Archives: September 2018

Matte.

Poetry fails this despair.
This emptiness.

I would rather not watch the roads less traveled.
Shackled to me digitally.

There is no Christmas morning Scrooge.
The regret you slept will stay with you.

But I would rather rattle my sins,
than liveĀ another day with them.

When no one is near,
and no one can hear,
I scream.

And a day passes.

When no one is near.
and no one can hear.
I scream.

And a year passes.

When no one is near.
and no one can hear.
I scream.

and I wonder when it will end.
Before it begins again.