In the wee hours
of the night
it comes together
or undone
perhaps when
you realize
there’s no place
left to run
Yesterday seems
a long time ago
tomorrow is just
a vague rumor
grown accustomed
to the heartache
like living with
a benign tumor
the moon is wearing
her resting bitch face
from her we’ll get
no sympathy
still we look up
and offer simple prayers
that somehow
she’ll set us free
what you thought
was your real struggle
is in fact your only fun
so you chuckle
and you whisper,
“come on, morning sun”


One thought on “Undone

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