ten to four

i wake and go to check my phone
  at ten to four, at ten to four
i turn and see i'm still alone
  at ten to four, at ten to four

the empty echoes of the night,
the tremors of insanity;
the hope that dies before the dawn
for resurrected vanity -

i rub my eyes and rise to sit
  at ten to four, at ten to four  
from dreams i waking won't admit
  at ten to four, at ten to four

the pallid truth that was my life,
though small and empty, seems so much:
within the choking hold of night
like one who drowns, i thrash and clutch

i can't unmake what has been made,
  i cannot go on anymore --

the weight of so much hopelessness

  at ten to four

    at ten

 
      to four

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

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