Idle Nights

Nights make me feel singular. 
A distant pace between the new and old; an idling car with no driver.

Surrounded by silent pianos and empty bottles of liquor,
I can’t think of anyone. 
Not tonight.

I’m the quiet type. Loudly dispensable. Overlooked, tucked in, and fucked.

I’m ready for a get-a-way, but think back to the idling car. 
I can reverse all I want, 
But I still can’t move.

Some say the stars tell our fate.
There are stars on my bedroom ceiling,
With a reoccurring theme of déjà vu.

I miss you. 
But who are you?

Reviews

[zainul]

Idle thoughts have no boundaries.
Nicely presented.
I can relate some while others may relate the rest.