Boredom hangs on a night, so still I can hear it breathe. With no one to talk to, I jot down a thought, a moment, a place In a desperate attempt to capture A mind that forgets itself more each day. As silence grows louder I feign the sound Of the phone and a light rap at the door. It is my hope come to bargain with me. To sell me that dream of anticipation That I shall not be alone. And the paranoid freak, I answer it. Indulge its taste for disappointment. Am I living? Did I die? Afraid I could not tell you. Too much of both could be said. Dreams quickly win the favor of my focus. Drive out the madness in my head.
Reason for writing:
I think the reason I wrote this is easily derived from
reading the poem.
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