Finger tips sticky with sugar and jam
Black out our eyes change the sheets
Hope that tomorrow we will wake up
The spent cans are like fired bullets
All put out with the trash
We lie very still
Watch the minutes turn into hours
Hours into days
We are unreachable
Lost in this wasteland
Cold hands around chipped cups
We drink sweet tea and hope for lightness to come
How very sad she moans
Wishing to be more
I pull the covers over my head
I am hollow
Hoping that tomorrow I will wake up.