POH-ehm.
a narrative poem (under the cut) written for class with the encouragement of
grim_lupine .
we used to wake up on sundays
drowsy at best, knock-out-drag-out at worst.
insomniac saturdays were a constant friend of mine
but that friend that you “forget” to call
when all of you go out.
sometimes, lately, you hold my hand
and promise me that i'll get to sleep
but i'm not sure if that's “be able to” or
“fall.” it seems that
we've been doing a lot of falling lately,
you and i, in love and other things.
and now, i actually have loglike saturdays
and rocklike sundays, and i am
falling falling falling
like Alice down some sort of
black hole and i'm
crossing my fingers, hoping
you're falling too.