if i had a clever title for every time i wrote a poem (i'd never have titles like this)

early mornings

the world sits tipped

stars black as diamonds

ceiling stripped


and in the dark

my morals trip

no moonshine guide

lunancy’s trick


air hazy soft, like

two buds, nipped

almost as good as

Twilight’s script


here’s to Us, this



the street fights

beneath street lights

over last rites

over limelight


the meters ticked

but never paid

the morals, fixed

but never spayed


and in this hour

it’s hard to say

exactly from which path

I’ve strayed

This poem is about: 


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