I cannot tell what’s missing.

Perhaps a cigarette 

or the need to sleep.

These days,

I’ve grown so terribly weak,

crawling from each place

to another,

distant and without a lover.

I cannot tell you what I need,

perhaps some peace?

A quiet room

where I can roam,

blissfully alone.

These days I find myself

in such bad health,

with spells of hunger

and nagging resentment;

maybe this is my life,

my true fibre of being 

or maybe I simply haven’t seen

what others are seeing.


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