PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There's a man in my bed,

but he only sighs.

At night I try to talk to him,

But all I hear is lies.

He wonders if I'm okay,

I know that I am not.

There was another man,

his hair brown and curly.

But he ran away,

and I fled,

leaving our cabin of lonliness.

Every now and then I can hear his voice

being carried through the wind, he says,

"Evelyn when are you coming home again?"