Houston

I go out at night, sometimes, but that's all.
I'm otherwise in, in my house, in my car,
In the place where I work, which has very
Few windows. I don't like the sun or the
Washed-out white sky, and I don't like
To talk to my neighbors. They're smug,
As if all they enjoy they obtained for
Themselves, and, if others face troubles,
They're what they deserve. I am here for
The money. On paper, I'm rich, but
The rest of my life is impoverished,
I'd say. I wish it would snow. I'd like
To go walking. I'm sorry I made here
My home.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 14 times
Written on 2013-08-20 at 15:37

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