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.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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