True Longing

By poet_hawtin

Sat, 18 Feb 2012
  • 531 reads
1 comments
 

Misery
is sitting in a rented room
on a borrowed bed,
a cold slab,
preoccupied with an illness
no cough mixture,
no laboratory
can fix.

I don’t sleep anymore,
just rest between broken dreams,
slowly splitting apart
from internal organs
outwards.
There are no seams
and it all seems so futile –
how brutal
true longing can be.

Certificate U
Poem
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by sillygirl on
I think you could expand on this... only an idea, but I'm curious to know what you are longing for... it doesn't need spelling out exactly, but something indicative would be great.