once the fire dies,

and the alarm rings

deaf to closed eyes.

warm inside

a bundled bed, but

what ever happened

to that insight?

early mornings

once for coffee

pass by empty,

for all that talking

you lasted just a

few short weeks.

back then,

you never thought of stopping.

thought of jotting

all your thoughts down,

now your thoughts drown,

thought you had found

remedy or antidote

for stress and pressure,

they creep back up now.

pages torn from

notebooks, journals.

pages thrown into

fires, dumpsters.

and your lone pencil

sits forever

on your bedside,

whole world tongue tied.