eyelashes plucked
and the orange-peel breath
of Town Hall viaduct
smells like time left
behind, it’s not strange
to weep when tired
or look to rearrange
everything, rewired
and I wonder, lonely
if a fraud?
what if I only,
always, did what I adored?
Who cares, who cries
in empty offices full of sighs

Today’s challenge: write your own sad poem, but one that, like Teicher’s “Son“, achieves sadness through simplicity. Playing with the sonnet form may help you. Not sure this is a real sonnet. I followed the rhyme structure but I feel like it isn’t ‘right’

Photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash