Prostitutes And Waitresses

I’m frantically searching
My disintegrating mind for prayers
Alone somewhere abandoned by humanity.
I’m so used to soul-crushing silence,
If I hear a woman’s voice,
I stop on a dime.
I mutter to stray dogs
In the freezing city rain
To remind myself I’m alive.
Everything has become surreal,
I’ve been asked to leave dark bars
Where the prostitutes and waitresses
All have tattoos and scars.
I’ve accepted these things,
I’ve ceased searching for explanations
For why my night skies
Have gone starless
And why I continue
To entertain a lifetime of despair.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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