Sleeping Pills

He puts on the mask of a young gun
And then pretends to be having fun
Listens to music that makes no sense
In a shallow world built so intense

He heads home in the midnight bus
His tired soul now covered in rust
Like a chained tiger no longer wild
Craves for attention like a lost child

He stares at empty wall with wonder
Wearily looking for a vague answer
No one there to fill his emptiness
No one there to feel his loneliness

He lays his head on his single bed
Goes to sleep a little bit more sad
Sleeping pills and Bob Dylan’s music
Good night, good morning from a man homesick

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About Toby Kendzierski

Fashion Model | Poet | Sketch Artist | Farmer | Biologist
This entry was posted in From a Poet's Heart and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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