By Andy Copeland


The quiet whirring of the fan


Into my reality

As the dark

Behind my eyelids

Is replaced

By the darkness

In front of me

Last I remember,

I fell



Into the cushions of this couch

But now my head is clear

My blood is clean

And my mouth is dry

It’s out

People around me snore

While my wretched withdrawal ensues

I rise

Stuff a cigarette in my mouth

The staccato flick

Of my Bic

My soft stirrings bring the dog by

Feet underneath me now,

My secret sneak starts

Socks silently sliding along the wood

Everyone slumbers tonight

But I’ll see the sun when it comes up


April 2013



By Andy Copeland


I’m waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting

To hear back from you

But the minutes are long

The hours drag on

I don’t know what I should do

And I’m slowly, slowly, slowly thinking

‘Bout what you said

I wanna relax

Can’t change the facts

I wish those words were dead


I’m drifting, drifting, drifting, fearing

I made a mistake

When I get meek

People think I’m weak

I think I’m going to shake

So please, please, please, oh please

Don’t let this end in pain

Tell me you love me so

And I promise I’ll show

That I feel the same


April 2013