The night was old,
it had long since past
like all emotions that didn’t hum to my desired tune
of those I would much prefer;
whispers that turn in to
a response to spontaneity.
A trip to catch a cheater
walked for blocks,
and turned left
in search for an outlet—
a sick desire to do anything less then sane.
whether he would ever take me back,
only to find myself making love in the under caf
and leaving a best friend broken hearted
and leaving another disappointed
just to play beneath the florescent lights;
on a table,
on a floor,
on a chair
and in front of a mirror.
I left my longings in front
of those the automatic doors
that opened and made me jump.
I was reminded of a similar fear
when I lost control of my emotions
and regret began to hum between my ears again.
The sun had decided it was going to rise again.
“He will never take me back.”
But those emotions will always come back
because mumbles and
It’s a work of spontaneity:
there is no use