top of page


mind racing

all the time

clock it winds

i’m losing kind

towards myself

i tear apart

my beating heart

i’m losing fine

surely slipping

buttered fingers

can’t sit still

no focus lingers

through my lungs

i pound my feet

pavement reeks


future plans

maybe sad

until I leave

change I plea

write for me

talk to me

don’t ignore me

sing to me

listen to the lyrics

hear me

watch my foolery

only attention

on the songs

no satisfaction

from other throngs

i don’t belong

in this town

Emerson’s writing

sheltered now

please Carry All Rations, Emily!

10 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page