Midnight Poem

Waste a day or two,
3rd floor windows view.

Carpet, tangled hair.
Silence, midnight air.

Oh, how it blends into one
empty road.

Oh, how it blends into one
midnight poem.

And what's this about happiness?
Does it take its toll when you're alone?

Slowing to the pace I've grown
accustomed to,

the feeling of my shoes,
off the ground.

Lights off, lucid screen.
Luminescent peace.

Faceless banter folk.
Makeshift midnight hope.

And what's this about happiness?
Does it take its toll when you're alone?

Grabbing fists of some motionless
shadow that follows me home.

So follow me Home.

This midnight poem.
We'll write it alone.

They'll never know.
You'll never know.