Tag: missing

Could You Write Me a Song?

Write me a song, Just promise it's not about love. Yeah, write me a song About sadness or madness, Or drunken what-have-its Or drugs. Recall all the sad things; The inane little ramblings Of poems and songs You would write all day long And the tears. Oh, just eight months ago, When your life was ...

A Pavlovian Sickness

Filtering light, Growing bright, Absolves the day of night. A man awakens from his slumber. The man, he suffers a hunger: An insatiable sanity pang. But dreams he can't escape Dictate and say his fate. "Saturday again." The callous calendar spoke. Were it not for malevolent numbers, You could think it was telling a joke. ...

A Lesson Learned

We held each other closely in the night Staring into one another's eyes. I said to her; "I feel so close to you. I don't allow people this close to me." She asked me why. I told her, "I am afraid of being hurt. Everyone leaves." She held me tighter and told me It was ...

Scarborough Nights

When I lay in bed at night And at last can rest my eyes, I still can hear the humming, Of the TV Lounge’s lights. I still can feel the leather, And the pleasant scent of fries. And as I drift away, I still recall the Scarborough Nights. What a silly room it was, But ...

Once I’ve Gone Away

The problem with the best things we possess Is that they are so sure to rot and die. Although we may not want to say goodbye, It is a fact to which we acquiesce. The good times that we use to decompress Have limits with which we must just comply. They are so limited in ...

Days of Skype

Do you remember the Days of Skype? When I was happy to be alive? When our APM set us up again To stay up every night? Do you remember the screams of rage? From the silly games we played? When 4 AM wasn't all that late, 'cause the Cole Train had no brakes? Do you ...

Day Four Hundred and One

Four Hundred and One days have passed since last the word of “love” was shining. Since my heart felt full and warm, with no thought that things were dying or declining. Three Hundred Eighty-Seven suns since last our hands had touched. T’is that duration when last I felt close enough for someone to see me ...