{POETRY} Trapped in 11:11
Literature, PoetryWhere I live, it’s always 11:11.
I know it sounds strange,
But that’s because it is.
It’s always 11:11.
I’ve tried to phone friends,
To ask them if it’s 11:11 for them,
But I only get through twice a day,
Except for my friend Francois.
He lives in Paris and only has 11:11
Once a day, lucky bastard.
When I ask them if it’s 11:11
Where they are, of course they say yes,
Because it is 11:11 when I call.
They don’t understand
That it’s always 11:11 for me.