Night be merciful
if you have to gather clouds
lay me on your bed of soft white cotton
hold the tall end of my thoughts
until all traces beneath have vanished

where am I in unfamiliar hours
stars I touch are powdered
the break of day escapes me
lure it in and fold it in my curls

why do thoughts come in pairs
my numb head knocks on bells
confirms the last calling of days
too tired to warm milk
unsteady legs on stairs

I – want – to – sleep
that damn clock is killing
give me up for any other present
sink away in the unreal
no more feeling – confirm it
the deal is to pull me away

© Monique (starfish_72)


Gepubliceerd door

Monique's Notebook

Poetry mainly - I play with my creative freedom.

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