In the long long night
The haunting keeps me awake,
The oomph of the chopping boards,
The laughter galloping down the street,
I am abysmal,
Sweeping myself under the rugs,
A sniveling little way to sum-up
The under-laid mourning
Of the stars that are willing to drop off my head
Lest I listen
And address them as myself.
There is a hidden core that you cannot see,
doesn’t mean it won’t touch your face,
it will always withdraw.