I can’t ever remember the things i want to say
when I get my head straight but the room is empty.
It’s been that way for hours;
guess the house is quiet for the night.
I can’t see the pretty things
that hang in your room,
above your head,
where you sleep.

What do you hear in the dark?

Glass breaks; nobody hears it.
Fell so slowly,
just like wind snapping branches of the trees in your yard.
I can’t hear a thing now,
the stars are shining much too loud at night.
Words stay stuck in my mouth like a stain from red wine.
You laugh over and over at all my useless phrases.
I can’t see the pretty things that hang in your room,
above your head,
where you sleep.

What do you see?