Monday, 9 November 2015

All of you see, a poem by Adam Common, poet

I find I can not reach far enough
To touch the things I see:
 They are too perfect.
 They are too far gone.
The are far too far beyond me.

I find that I am not strong enough
To have the things I need:
 They are saccharine,
 And unrealistic.
The are far too much for me.

I find that I am too overwhelmed,
Affected, upset and beat
 To: Deserve my sleep.
 Deserve my comfort.
Deserve all that's coming to me.

I find that I still see your silhouette
In darkened doorways, and windows, and streets.
 It's uncommon cruelty.
 Unbearable torture.
Why do I do this to me?

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