Poetry · Writing

Weekend Getaway

I found myself sitting

waiting for each note,

like the drum breakdown,

In the Air Tonight.

Stringing the guitar

the birds chirped outside

singing about my weak grasp

on my own humanity.

They can hold a note,

I’ll give them that.

There throwing

it in my face.

Close the blinds,

pray for the power

to control my own

and finish what they started.

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