I was flipping through some old notebooks and I found some poetry from a couple years ago. The night I wrote these musings was weird. But I like them.
I am a stranger in my own house
as bleak and silent as new dawn
But rough like ocean poetry
that fancies my wind
Deep within that precious cavern
I heard you crying
Weeping for the saddened souls
that cling to your back
Your time is wasted, love, on time
pondering intricacies over burnt toast
focusing on the remnants of the stars
scattered like half hazard shards of glass
around your universe.