3 am

You wake out of habit
A tonic of bad dreams and habitual guilt and melancholy
Because what is a poem without it
Believe me you will sleep again
Do not over think this
It doesn’t have to be perfect
Only true

Apocalpse day 150

Apocalypse day 150

A post shared by Betty G (@genericpoet) on

Apocalypse day 150

I get angry and alone. I get hopelessness. What I don’t understand is…

It keeps happening

It doesn’t always make the news

Some bullets fall like rain

Some shatter marble


What I don’t understand is the difference