Worst harvest

Coming home in a town that I don't know,
wandering through the streets near my house.
Stumble on the concrete torn by the flowers growing up,
forshadowed by the street lights.
Wasting away my days,
thinking about these things,
and I'm lost.

You're gone, and I can't find,
the right words to say,
please stay.
Sit on the balcony, thinking so endlessly,
about the sun rise.
Every new day of the week,
same things that I see,
boring chores,
I do all the time,
here I am,
stranded and stuck.

lostpoetrystreet lights

◄ Feeling like Butters after the break up (sad yet happy that it happened)

Mountain thyme tea rolled up in seaweed playing the role of a joint ►



Fri 5th Apr 2019 22:25

This may be welcome, or not, but your piece reminded me of a movie...


The milieu is both beautiful and painful at once.


If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message