PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Toast. toast was everywhere

interspersed sporadically with green

the low, somber kind that reminded me

of dead trees crying for another

chance to taste sunlight.

The beds are metal, music certainly not

fascimiles of smiles plastered on

every shadow cloaked face

that turn towards the ceiling during

the lonely nights begging for

a second attempt at fucking

up their tired lives.

I sleep all day, dream of sliding

into the corners of this broken highway

conversations of longing cut short

when the money runs out.

I clog my veins with fat and hate

turning into what I never dreamed I'd be

packing on the weight never meant to be bourne

by these afflicted bones and compressed spine

moaning for respite from the self-loathing

that got me here in the first place.

So we all wait for our day when

we can escape into the greedy clutches

of the doombringer, our punishment, our fate.

Time forever lost.