Whispered Wanderings

Alas, I am alone with my thoughts,
again. It doesn’t seem to matter much,
day or night or somewhere in between:
time’s a meaningless concept here,
these days. Ah yes, these days,
nothing much I want to say about them!
So many unspoken apologies birthed this
relentless, insatiable hunger. Hunger that
claws and rips and tears with jagged teeth
at a reality I no longer wish to be mine.
But after pretending so long, how can I be sure
of what I wish it were instead?

klm
4/30/24

[Using this prompt again: “to write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.” I used my own poem “Wandering Tercet”, from 3/6/24.]