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My body

drowning in a

hoodie and sweatpants

knowing it won't

and can't

muster the energy

to get up.

Not that I

need to.

It's the middle

of the night.

But it seems

sing even if you sing badly; dance even if you dance horribly; write even if you write terribly; love even if you are bad at it.

When you’re trapped

in a place you can’t escape,  

routines that never end,

drowning under piles of paper, 

with the deafening sounds 

of endless haunting expectations 

I have this dream 

where the sky is dark, 

moon illuminating, 

faded stars surrounding it, 

that I gaze at from 

Moments slip away

faster than I'd like them to.

Moments I could hold onto forever

moments I would hold onto forever

if I were given the chance.

Although memories are forever,

Well, here we go again.

The urge to write a poem

but unsure what to write about.

That’s what this is.