|Stuff I wrote in the middle of the night in Vancouver.
||[Jul. 18th, 2007|03:50 pm]
|||||Daughtry - Home||]|
The lamp-posts cross the street
and I watch them as they wait
for the crosswalk to light up.
The man searching the trash for cans
doesn't ask for money
so I give him a smile.
On the street, police arrest citizens
for reasons I can only imagine.
My hoodie full of sweat and coffee stains
is my only source of warmth
as I wait for the bus station to
once again open its doors to me
like welcoming arms.
Caffeine and nicotine stimulate while
I shake from fatigue, withdrawl,
and the lower temperature of night.
I am fighting a losing battle against my eyelids
as they become incrementally heavier.
The lamp-post lights a cigarette
and beckons me over with a lure.
In the darkness, its silhouette is sexy,
and I huddle closer to its protection.
These parchment leaves
are the lone record
of what lurks
inside the vastness of my mind
immense enough to contain whole universes
yet bottled up in opacity
I leave imprints upon digital dust
that may, at any time, be swept away
by a virus as intangible as
Lack of will.
If only, if only...
The future can be yours
for forty thousand dollars and endless years of therapy.
Grab hold of a lifeline
yet never learn to swim.
It's not like riding a bicycle.
Every single time seems exactly as the first.
Learn to eat, learn to walk, learn to breathe;
fall down just to get up and do it again.
And so long as you keep getting up,
a glutton for punishment,
that seems to be the only thing that matters.