The Addict

Sitting by the bedside table,

A light shines upon the pages

He writes words, barely able,

He talks about his cages.

He’s being dramatic,

He’s still at it,

Screaming with his pen,

This boy, barely ten.

He sits addicted to the words he writes,

Like an escape late in the night,

He longs for the coffin case,

The feel of deaths warm embrace.

Here I am

And here I am, looking in your window,
I am under a sky, yet to be blue.
Oh and I see you with him, your bodies together.
Together.. Together.. No. That’s not right.
What about our past? What about me?

And here I am,
Running naked through your garden.
But you see me not. Not once.
No, you have never layed those gorgeous eyes upon me.
But behold, here I am. And I can see all of you.

But no, this is wrong.
Go, be happy.