ten cigarettes...

I tried to write something
that was almost worth reading
but this pen feels numb in my hands
and I stayed up all night
just to see if I could
I went out through my window
and onto the streets
to see them lifeless for once
it was everything that I expected
which was not anything at all
but I laughed all the same
just to ruin the silence
with a voice that almost echoed
but the wind swept it away
before it was brought back to me
as a voice I once knew
a phantom under the cold morning air
that would be drowning in the pale moon
if the street lamps were not so bright
a perfect ending to a poem
almost worth writing.


Wes Thompson.