The janitor is eavesdropping

It's always interesting for me to write a poem and not really know where I'm going with it. Sometimes I'll think I have this brilliant idea, and then when I write it down it sounds like shit. Poems like this one are cool to look back on and think about what it meant to me when I wrote it and what it means to me now. It can be completely different. Hopefully you'll find some meaning in it.

I told you a story
There were sharp corners
dark hallways
And scuffed vans
battles turn to blisters
white eyes bleed red
forgive me
just listen

Now thousands of seconds
I can count them all
The lights have gone out
I stay and wait
tables turned
feet cocked high on a stool
pound down the stairs
I’ve been here for hours
losing track of the hours

paperback
Money’s expense
dreams I feared to lose
you don’t need anyone
They need me that way
I can’t finish without knowing
what it all means
I can’t finish
So I’ve
been counting
the hours

(c) Caitlin C.