There are times when I lie
Upon the cold, hard floor,
Feeling my reason slipping,
Listening to music doesn’t help,
TV only makes it worse.
I sip on wine
Red, remember Paris.
Days spent in lost memorization
Of its foreignness
Without attempts at proximity.
Now,
Sitting alone,
In the city of loneliness,
With only my wine,
Thinking about the ease,
Relaxing the muscles
Which hold my sanity in place.
Doing the things
Lying beneath my net
Of endurance.
I’ve thrown my body
Ypon it, but it struggles.
A single laugh, maybe,
It will be gone.
Trouble,
Time spent searching
Inches into yards.
Deeds, happiness,
Realization, contempt.
Loss, harm, return.
Too late.
Can’t speak
True thoughts, true thoughts, thoughts.