Monday, January 31, 2011

Hours Alone

I don't have anything anymore.

I remember how I once woke up,
multiple days of the week
and I'd have this great plan
for what was going to occur that day,
some girl, some place, something I could go do

Now, I awaken,
I decide whether or not
I want to smoke a cigarette,
if I don't, all I'll do is think about it,
and if I do smoke one I become surrounded
by thoughts of dying
as my chest forgets how to breathe properly
and lungs leave me short of energy

I lay or sit here on this bed
thinking of how pathetic my life has become
for hours a day, and I get no closer
to anything resembling a better thought process

It wasn't much better when I had something,
some girl, some place to go,
but I wasn't facing my own death at the time,
and that's all it feels like anymore inside this chest
that loses against the intake of oxygen

waiting. to. die.

There's nothing of interest outside of a girl or two,
and there's only truly any interest there
because I want someone to inspire me to believe in living again,
even at the risk of falling in love with life
just as I were to die,
one second would be so worth it
compared to these hours alone


© 2011 William A. Robertson (All Rights Reserved)