Author Information
Apathy
Folder:
Poetry Dog-eared paperbacks and
old love notes mean nothing to me now.
The taste of cigarettes
still have that old familiar burn.
I sit in the streets at one in the morning,
full of ache and longing
for clean sheets and a goodnight phone call.
Nowhere to go,
except for that unforgiving Hell
that was the bed we shared.
I'll call you from the corner payphone.
(no answer)
Let the reciever hang free
and walk home like I'm not heartbroken.
