my
sanity ticks away with the needle
as much as my shut eyes deny ownership
i ended up writing too much about myself
lying to poetry, cheating the needless nights
i want seriously to write about other things
about a girl who cried in the train i was in;
the bloodshot eyes, the careful tears, and
everytime her eyes remembers, she held herself
i may be wrong, my curious glances inattentive
because as she held her 'grief' from the public,
her lips curved into something that appeared
to be a smile. i mean, i do that sometimes
i wanted to write revengefully about a life
that sucks, friendship that hurts, or a past
that reminds - but pieces like these are just
so full of the idiosyncrasies of my mere attempt
(forget it
© estherg
in the dark of my room at 3 AM