Being Tired of Lonely Evenings

The night, everything about the night, was clear.

The air cold, smooth.

A sweatshirt underneath a jacket

  to keep warm in an Oregon winter.

The air bit the top of her nose.

Thoughts raced through her mind

  in a thick layer of THC.

The Frohnmeyer Bridge is long and eerie,

  but it was a comfort att one in the morning.

Depressed and stoned, she looked at the water.

In a daze.

  The Willamette River.

  Beautiful and clear. A literal force of nature.

  Scary fast.

Her fingers gripped the rail as she pondered

  a tiny trip over.

How easy it would be...

After ten minutes, she goes home,

  like she does every time.

She never knows what stops her.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741