Old Poetry: Without the Night

So I found some old poetry on my old laptop. I've decided to share, no matter how much anxiety it gives me. And it gives me great anxiety to share my writing sometimes. But I've learned from my many literary heroes. Not guts, no glory, right?

Without the Night

We’re all on the chopping block

But I’d rather be on yours

I’d rather be naked

Then covered in mud from his backyard

I try to resist temptation

But nothing’s left to be done

So I go my own way

And solitude follows

And I know I’m not a saint

I’ve sinned among the sinners

I’ve got it bad this time

And I just can’t shake it

When do we learn to fight?

When do we learn to heal?

Why is this so hard and disgusting

At the same time, appealing?

I will never trust

Though I have never lied

And the thought of lying next to you

Takes my breath

I hold it inside

The night overcomes us

And tragedy has fallen to light

This is a fucking nightmare

Although without the night.