A lame mood caused me to write this lame poem. The new, crisp sheets, Whiter than snow. Fluffy comfortor, To snuggle below. A fuzzy throw blanket, Cozy as can be. All the space to stretch, Entire bed for me. Though it's not enough, At night I do cry. I wanted freedom, Now I wonder why. Why am I lonely, Why do I ache? The hugs we exchange, The love we could make. But nothing seems farther, I know this is true. My bed remains empty, I'll never have you.
I wouldn't call it lame. Simple, yes. But lame, no. I kinda like it but then again, it sort of explains how I've been feeling for the last 18 months or so every time I try to sleep.
