A strange affliction

It’s all in the eyes

The tired objects of admiration they’ve become

Staying up late to think about a good thing

Dry, red veins that sting when tears form

A puff of air that’s irritable

Every blink I hear when it’s quiet

Feels entirely bittersweet

When the pictures I see are incomplete.


Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s