Lonely (Maybe he reads too much Lorca)

The night doesn't sleep, brutally
it drinks down the fourth hour 

barstools slowly fill up
with broken dreams and unkissed lips

there is only one sentence left
behind my closed lips

a shaky hand extends and
a glass loses from gravity

in the mirror he sees his reflection staring.
He feels himself becoming image and mirror

the clock is silently judging  
all the nothingness in body and mind

his shadow caresses and steals 
another life unsuffered

until a bright light barks the shadow away
to the realm of the frantic 

at the bar of stale days
life is emptier than a glass.