A poem for other love sick losers

We’re all in this together
as those labeled almost
and not quite.
We’ve grown into an army of the alone,
people who no longer share their beds
with anything other
than memories
and look happy at a glance,
but only when no ones looking.
we’re the ones left open,
like cuts left bleeding,
still with feeling in our fingertips
leaving fingerprints on dusty surfaces behind us
like tracks in the snow
where even the coldest days
will always welcome the fire.

Advertisements

About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: