The nights are thin cheap walls now, erected
between reality and life. They stand,
although not well constructed. To me
they are the fence before sobriety,
the end of one more day that was a mess.
Through cracks the cold air comes to refresh me,
and more or less renewed I rise at nine.
The walls have stood and done their job. I pray
that crazy lights won’t trouble me today.
It’s fine. Again the nights will shelter me.
Celebrating my bd, I treated myself with some time to write this poem. 🙂 And now it is party time I guess.