saturday, september 25

time is like some slow drug:
you don't realize how much you've had
until the delirium kicks in,
or the tremors

you've been awake too long,
but you don't dare sleep:
she's there and waiting
for you to say something
that will justify all
those miles.

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2004 / 9 / 25