Post #32: More spontaneous poetry

As of now this is untitled…this was written last night after reading a friend’s poem.

lonely she sits having staring contests
with her own reflection
and tonight she’s alone more than ever
epiphanies far behind her
nothing is novel anymore
everything aging like epic kings
while she fades away
some artist’s illustration
in someone else’s story

and on the other side of the wall
he stands staring at the city
and the lights indicating signs of life
while he’s on the inside
trying to get out
of a solitary confinement
society’s prison
his private torture chamber

we’re all just dying on the inside

what hope is there for the human race
other than our own ingenuity
the strength to pull the bootstraps
are there dreams of glory
is there hope of evening finally falling
something to cover our immortal mortality
everyone else is close like the stars
and intimate like strangers

we’re all just dying
we’re all just falling
we’re all just bleeding
we’re all just dancing and weeping and laughing
we’re all just going crazy on the inside
and somewhere is our only hope…


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