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Poetry at Night

The surfaces are always softer

whenever you’re in view

I guess it never really mattered

I choose to blind myself

at least that’s how I see it

trapped with a belly hunger

I know I could

feed for hours

still, I choose to go hungry now.

I’m starting to catch on

knowing just how come

time and attention matter

especially when they’re played

up against stolen promises.

The addiction is moving

strung out trying to catch a glimpse

I’m not sure you understand

why I keep this up

perhaps it’s because

we tend to come alive

when we crawl in the dark

flushed out from our corners

I honestly don’t mind

how or why all this started.

You still strike love

my permanent one

my mind is forever stuck

writing poetry at night.


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