A long time coming, in a windowless room. A dim light overhead sheds no insight to this situation.
The rains have become second nature. As a result the flooding rots the wood, medicating anything it touches with mold and mildew. The carpet has disappeared through the dark murky water. Scratches in the paint tell a subtle story of a man going mad. A world unknown a world away.
At the bottom of the door the wood starts to swell and split, an acting sponge, soaking up the liquid to send higher the ever spreading disease. A months time will take it towards to ceiling, eight months time will completely enclose this hell. Releasing particles, airborn into stagnant air. Inhaling, and coming to a collective rest on the floor of my lungs. The trickle that flows in from behind this bedroom door brings the water level up slightly everyday that passes. The only familiarity is a light discoloration on the wall where a cross hung. Faith, where has it gone? A time not so long ago I thrived, strived and tried. Everything was within arms reach, had a life I could adore. When you least expect it the walls will start to close in on you, the air will compress. Simple things like breathing, seeing and living become obsolete. You'll learn to ignore the humidity, the claustrophobia and the lonliness. A paste will form in your mouth, your voicebox still have the price tags attached to it. As unused as my muscles
as useless as the thoughts trapped in your mind.
I lean out over the xedgex. It is a long way down and I am not sure if this water is deep enough to soften the the impact. The ledge I've been perched on for so long finally erodes from the passing tide, from under this strain. Now I can see what used to be the floor boards, now a fermenting cesspool. I take the plunge, and I'm paddling out as fast as I can, not looking back. There won't be any saved breath for the swim back.
This is the living hell I've created, a place to call my own, a home of sorts.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Greener Grass
"I hate y..." She said, I slammed the door as she punched down on the gas pedal. She never showed up to pick up her things and I never called. I adorned my life with searching, I pulled up the roots and left. Disposed of ninety percent of all my belongings, I didn't belong. 2,000 miles later I picked up in a small town called Wayne in eastern Nebraska. With something like a 9,000 person population figured I could tear away from the foundation I set back home and start anew.A job presented itself in the form of refrigeration repair, For Hansen's Fridge.I started on a Wednesday morning first thing. Met my co-workers and hit it off right away. Later that evening they treated me to a beer at the local bar, where the trash hid in darkened corners and left the taste of mold in your mouth.
Months had passed and life was beginning to settle, I felt alive and with every intention to stay alone.I lived above a thrift store downtown in a small one bedroom apartment. Cozy and tidy, i had picked up a couch that was left back in the alley behind my place, but not much else.People were always leaving trash and treasures back there as a donation to the thrift store. I'd hear their cars come screeching to a halt followed by quickly slamming car doors and quiet talking. It was considered "dumping" but after hours they continued to unload load after load.
This particular day I awoke to crashing glass, glancing out the hazy windows overlooking main street I see a local man's truck had jumped the curb and smashed into a power across the street. He stumbles out and with amazement looks at the damage to his old Ford. I step back, away from the bright winter sky. 6:47 in the morning and i have to be at work by 8a.m. I might as well stay awake, I tell myself. I head to work as usual. Something is different, something has changed.I no longer like feel this was my home any longer. I still have bills to pay, so I trudge on. Days pass, weeks pass, months pass and I can feel the loneliness hiding in every corner of mind. Its a plague, a spreading wild fire. Ravaging the small plains in my head. Soon overwhelming, I start to feel the decent into my bones and it reverberates leaving behind a resin covering every inch of me. A coating that I can not get off of my skin.
You can't help but feel alone in this life, when everyone you know leaves to get lost somewhere new. Something is missing and I can't seem to place a finger on it.How have we grown so dependant, to serve the needs of everyone around us? Why must we place ourselves at the feet of the people we love, bow, beg, repeat, repeat, repeat.Living alone in an enclosed box exclaimed as life. These days are a reoccurring nightmare.
I have become the solitude of winter. There will be no warm weather ahead.
Months had passed and life was beginning to settle, I felt alive and with every intention to stay alone.I lived above a thrift store downtown in a small one bedroom apartment. Cozy and tidy, i had picked up a couch that was left back in the alley behind my place, but not much else.People were always leaving trash and treasures back there as a donation to the thrift store. I'd hear their cars come screeching to a halt followed by quickly slamming car doors and quiet talking. It was considered "dumping" but after hours they continued to unload load after load.
This particular day I awoke to crashing glass, glancing out the hazy windows overlooking main street I see a local man's truck had jumped the curb and smashed into a power across the street. He stumbles out and with amazement looks at the damage to his old Ford. I step back, away from the bright winter sky. 6:47 in the morning and i have to be at work by 8a.m. I might as well stay awake, I tell myself. I head to work as usual. Something is different, something has changed.I no longer like feel this was my home any longer. I still have bills to pay, so I trudge on. Days pass, weeks pass, months pass and I can feel the loneliness hiding in every corner of mind. Its a plague, a spreading wild fire. Ravaging the small plains in my head. Soon overwhelming, I start to feel the decent into my bones and it reverberates leaving behind a resin covering every inch of me. A coating that I can not get off of my skin.
You can't help but feel alone in this life, when everyone you know leaves to get lost somewhere new. Something is missing and I can't seem to place a finger on it.How have we grown so dependant, to serve the needs of everyone around us? Why must we place ourselves at the feet of the people we love, bow, beg, repeat, repeat, repeat.Living alone in an enclosed box exclaimed as life. These days are a reoccurring nightmare.
I have become the solitude of winter. There will be no warm weather ahead.
Exit Signs
The smell of sterility here is making me nauseous. The hours have passed right through me and I've been sitting so long my back is aching. The sharpness of my injury brings all my focus back to this room. My wife,rest her soul, passed away six years ago. She was driving home from visiting her sister in Vermont when a truck side swiped her compact car. The depression that comes with being states away and not being able to be there in the last few minutes of the person you loves life was not easily bearable.In a few failed attempts when I was at my lowest, I drove recklessly through the back service roads hoping that anything would end this frustration and hatred for myself. Six years have gone by and nothing has changed. Her clothes are where she left them. Her toothbrush, although untouched still lay on the same shelf collecting dust. The days have become longer than twenty fours hours now, a day has become a month and my life drags on.
The middle aged woman two seats down is coughing up a lung, she just arrived moments ago. I over hear a nurse tell another that she had been flying in a jumbo passenger jets, passing over the checked farm lands that are the Midwest when she suddenly fell off her seat and started to convulse. They quickly landed the plane at the nearest airport to dispense her into the closest hospital. Here she is, her mucus, pressurized, traveling up her throat until its airborne, floating towards me and other patients.
Just when i thought my life would be starting, retired and finally having the money to travel. All of my plans cut short. i fear the worst is coming. I patiently wait my turn. Hours pass, another eight hours and i can barely stand it.Finally my name is called as a thirty something year old lady comes through the door.I follow her through the double doors, as she asks how i am feeling. "not good"I mutter as I clear my throat. She takes me to another waiting room where I can wait by myself. Finally a semi-cozy chair and silence. A few moments go by and a tall man walks in, perfect posture and staring at a chart. He asks two questions about my prior health, eyes glued to the paper in his sterile hands. He tells me,"I'll be right back" and walks out. I am left waiting again. I decide to lay down on the recliner chair, i fall asleep. I wake up to gripping the sides of the chair.White knuckled, my neck closes up, and as the lady from the plane coughs in the next room, my vision blurs. I can see her sitting on a swing, my wife, she is looking at me with those beautiful blues. A hint of a smile and my world goes black before the rush.
The middle aged woman two seats down is coughing up a lung, she just arrived moments ago. I over hear a nurse tell another that she had been flying in a jumbo passenger jets, passing over the checked farm lands that are the Midwest when she suddenly fell off her seat and started to convulse. They quickly landed the plane at the nearest airport to dispense her into the closest hospital. Here she is, her mucus, pressurized, traveling up her throat until its airborne, floating towards me and other patients.
Just when i thought my life would be starting, retired and finally having the money to travel. All of my plans cut short. i fear the worst is coming. I patiently wait my turn. Hours pass, another eight hours and i can barely stand it.Finally my name is called as a thirty something year old lady comes through the door.I follow her through the double doors, as she asks how i am feeling. "not good"I mutter as I clear my throat. She takes me to another waiting room where I can wait by myself. Finally a semi-cozy chair and silence. A few moments go by and a tall man walks in, perfect posture and staring at a chart. He asks two questions about my prior health, eyes glued to the paper in his sterile hands. He tells me,"I'll be right back" and walks out. I am left waiting again. I decide to lay down on the recliner chair, i fall asleep. I wake up to gripping the sides of the chair.White knuckled, my neck closes up, and as the lady from the plane coughs in the next room, my vision blurs. I can see her sitting on a swing, my wife, she is looking at me with those beautiful blues. A hint of a smile and my world goes black before the rush.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Prescriptions
This line seems to last longer than the DMV these days. My left leg starts to take a nap while the the right steadies my swaying body. Counting every moment, then recounting it over I can see where the lines ends. From around the shoulders of the large family on my bow, the clerk sits patiently as an elderly lady foils through her large purse trying to locate a method of payment. Finally, she pulls a wallet from the wreckage and hands the clerk some currency. Exchanging with the lady a small transparent bronze bottle.These pills, sustain our urges, anchor our thoughts, choke down with water. Take two every four hours. Take with food.
After 53 minutes I'm next in line. I over hear the father of the family mention a peptic ulcer. The clerk returns from searching the shelves behind the counter, returns with a small white bag. Exchange pills for profit.
As my leg starts to awaken at the thought of leaving soon, I gradually hobble towards the counter. Grasping the counter top as I approach. I Tell the same clerk that Dr. Marshall's office should have faxed over a prescription for congenital heart disease, something I apparently was blessed to be brought into this life with. I have taken the same pills for the past 40 years.
"Here we are" he says returning to the register. "That will be $47.06" goddamn ridiculous I say to myself, they've raised the price again. I take my change and receipt and walk away as best as I can while my leg starts to pump blood again. Back at the front of the store I pass through the automatic doors into the partly cloudy skies. Into my car, i pull off the cap, take 2 washed down with pepto bismal.
I am falling apart. "These pills.." the doctors say, "these pills keep you alive." When I've felt so alone and dead for the years that have left wrinkles on my face,whitened this hair, outdated this life, whats left to keep striving towards? The struggle I face to pry open my eyes every cold winters morning, and to keep them open through every hot summers dusk, leaves me tired. Keep moving, keep the yard clean, keep the house in decent shape. My kids haven't been around in years, this house will be theirs soon. A girl and a boy 15 months apart living states away. The phone almost feels nonexistent anymore, except on holidays I get two calls.. My left leg brings me back to the moment. Its starting to ache.
Sitting in the parking lot staring into this bottle, little white pills. Two more tossed in the back of my throat, the pain subsides. We create diseases, a dime a dozen, same symptoms, same pills, same result. You'll feel better for their falsehoods. They'll tell you what you want to hear "you're sick, I will fax over a prescription to the pharmacy." Human defects out weigh the amount of people roaming this planet. It keeps us in check, keeps us shuddering.
The pain comes back stronger this time as I flick my wrist to start the car. Its working its way up my left side. A crushing ache raising into my arm, the weight a of a truck now sits on my chest. My hand loses its grip on the steering wheel. Heaving, my eyes start to close for the last time in the pharmacy parking lot, car running.
My kids will get the house.
After 53 minutes I'm next in line. I over hear the father of the family mention a peptic ulcer. The clerk returns from searching the shelves behind the counter, returns with a small white bag. Exchange pills for profit.
As my leg starts to awaken at the thought of leaving soon, I gradually hobble towards the counter. Grasping the counter top as I approach. I Tell the same clerk that Dr. Marshall's office should have faxed over a prescription for congenital heart disease, something I apparently was blessed to be brought into this life with. I have taken the same pills for the past 40 years.
"Here we are" he says returning to the register. "That will be $47.06" goddamn ridiculous I say to myself, they've raised the price again. I take my change and receipt and walk away as best as I can while my leg starts to pump blood again. Back at the front of the store I pass through the automatic doors into the partly cloudy skies. Into my car, i pull off the cap, take 2 washed down with pepto bismal.
I am falling apart. "These pills.." the doctors say, "these pills keep you alive." When I've felt so alone and dead for the years that have left wrinkles on my face,whitened this hair, outdated this life, whats left to keep striving towards? The struggle I face to pry open my eyes every cold winters morning, and to keep them open through every hot summers dusk, leaves me tired. Keep moving, keep the yard clean, keep the house in decent shape. My kids haven't been around in years, this house will be theirs soon. A girl and a boy 15 months apart living states away. The phone almost feels nonexistent anymore, except on holidays I get two calls.. My left leg brings me back to the moment. Its starting to ache.
Sitting in the parking lot staring into this bottle, little white pills. Two more tossed in the back of my throat, the pain subsides. We create diseases, a dime a dozen, same symptoms, same pills, same result. You'll feel better for their falsehoods. They'll tell you what you want to hear "you're sick, I will fax over a prescription to the pharmacy." Human defects out weigh the amount of people roaming this planet. It keeps us in check, keeps us shuddering.
The pain comes back stronger this time as I flick my wrist to start the car. Its working its way up my left side. A crushing ache raising into my arm, the weight a of a truck now sits on my chest. My hand loses its grip on the steering wheel. Heaving, my eyes start to close for the last time in the pharmacy parking lot, car running.
My kids will get the house.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
worms
it crept up way back when and now decided to indefinitely resurface. i can't blame it, it never really left me. as i sit here, in the middle of this concave bed i contemplate my fate, spilling my drink as i doze back off into slumber. as the sunlight seeps through every part in the blinds i squint to try and rummage through the bright to find a suitable middle ground my eyes can stand. showered, fed, shaved and clothed i get into that old Chevy, its seen nearly every state at some point in its prime the transmission was from Connecticut, the radiator and rust-free gas tank were from the south-west. the truck and i have a hard time starting on these freezing mid western mornings. partly cloudy, the dry snow blowing sideways without having the chance to stick to the ground before being lifted to a new destination. rust is eating at us again, salt is caked on our feet, slowly but surely were hunching over just a touch more and slowing down. numb feet connect with the unforgiving ground, the harsh winter and humid summers bred mold in the basement and walls of my house, these days its in the same boat as my truck and i. the car plant closed its doors 3 years ago today. as a former employee and an early retiree i find myself sifting through the days holding onto the things i truly enjoy and tossing out the other 23 hours of garbage.
i drive by my old career, re imagining how it all went wrong. we knew it was coming. lay-offs and pay-cuts, i was the last of my friends to get the boot. i guess making a life out of maintaining the machines that make vehicles isn't such a bad gig after all. i had made it to foreman by the time i was let go, it doesn't sound like much but a nice change to be recognized. the promotion didn't come with any pay increase. those years do a number on your physical condition. this landscape has grown increasingly bare and so pale. the trees were gray and had beards to the dirt. the sky was a few shades off from being the same color as the earth. this place used to thrive, we had theatres, car-hops, diners with the best breakfast omelette's north of Kansas. the young graduate and hit the pavement looking for a life of their own. they move on never to come back. we are few here.
out past the airport, my favorite spot, i climb atop my truck and lay on the hood. i can feel the warmth radiating up from the burning engine. staring at the sky as the planes land and depart. i can't help but wonder where they're going, why am i not with them? i climb down, climb in and drive off. down the old farm roads i take my time. over pot holes and gravel. there is nothing for me here. why dwell in my own despair? i have no one and nothing except a full tank of gas and I'm not coming back.
i drive by my old career, re imagining how it all went wrong. we knew it was coming. lay-offs and pay-cuts, i was the last of my friends to get the boot. i guess making a life out of maintaining the machines that make vehicles isn't such a bad gig after all. i had made it to foreman by the time i was let go, it doesn't sound like much but a nice change to be recognized. the promotion didn't come with any pay increase. those years do a number on your physical condition. this landscape has grown increasingly bare and so pale. the trees were gray and had beards to the dirt. the sky was a few shades off from being the same color as the earth. this place used to thrive, we had theatres, car-hops, diners with the best breakfast omelette's north of Kansas. the young graduate and hit the pavement looking for a life of their own. they move on never to come back. we are few here.
out past the airport, my favorite spot, i climb atop my truck and lay on the hood. i can feel the warmth radiating up from the burning engine. staring at the sky as the planes land and depart. i can't help but wonder where they're going, why am i not with them? i climb down, climb in and drive off. down the old farm roads i take my time. over pot holes and gravel. there is nothing for me here. why dwell in my own despair? i have no one and nothing except a full tank of gas and I'm not coming back.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
i have recently given writing a shot. here is a short story with no real plot. constructive criticism would be helpful. also, I'm sure there are plenty sure misspellings and grammatical errors.
i tried to speak, all that followed was a cough blowing out the built up dust and the stale air that had been resting in my lungs, rushed from my exhaust pipe. choked up wishing the night could be here already, these sleeping pills had become the only sight of relief. i am 19, young and ready to take on the world. i wish that were true, I've lost sight of the things that meant so much to me. my ambition was the first thing to leave me, all other feelings followed suit as if to escape a life of disappointment. i hit bottom shortly there after. a father who made two mistakes in life never let us forget. as mistakes we would come to terms with being the broken condom, the precum, the failed pull-out. a life we don't want. a man that was just looking for fun on Saturday night. this man, this father, this person hasn't seen my face in over two years, its the only thing i have going for me now. these pills, five onto my tongue chased down with a three old day glass of water. i lay down my head at the thought of the day, one less to live. horns from the street wake me from an open window facing the street. i never could sleep well without it. something has happened, the flashing red and blue lights are dancing on the wall as the side effects wear off. i had gotten use to the spinning ceiling and the vomiting that ensues. i wash my face like all the shinny shit eating stars on the silver screen, a quick splash of cool water followed by a long stare into the mirror, into myself, wondering where things went wrong with me. i throw on the same clothes the previous three days had seen. down to the corner mart i pick up a coke, at this time 10 am almost feels too early to be awake, but the early mornings and twilight's of the night were the only times the cold air cleansed my body the only time i ever felt anything similar to being alive. just as the day begins to heat up, my cell rings. before i glanced at the caller i.d. I'd wish time and time again it would be her calling, she was everything i wasn't, she was the person that when i was around her nothing else mattered. as cliche as that sounds she was somebody i could see myself with. i never thought I'd have someone to say that about, most girls are as generic as white walls. but I'm my mind i knew it wasn't her.
i didn't answer, it was no use to talk to anyone anymore, the people at both ends of the line would always hang up mad. a voicemail would later tell me my sister was urging me to call my mother back. the rain in my head let up for a few hours, but the ground was still flooded I head down toward the school, incidentally the place i spent too many years not knowing what i was doing there. Rasputin, Henry the V, Cesar, pi, algebra, none of these things matter in life and death. but the routine of the 8 am march to class continues to this day, a fresh batch of kids were heading off to waste the first 18 years of life stuck inside, breathing chalk dust. my days were done there and i hadn't planned on doing anything remotely close to expanding my education. i have become the rake and shovel at the landfill, stirring up dirt and covering trash, doing my part in the destruction of this planet. brand new i would shine when any sort of light was near, now tarnished, chipped, dented and deserted after 5 pm. the school was behind me now, I'm not sure where I'm headed just yet. the beggars on James st. hold up cups at the sight of me. if i had any money I'd be on a train out of here. its strange to consider how someones life that started off possibly as new and stainless as mine ended up a slow moving train wreck. they would still plead with their god about his salvation, but they don't know god doesn't exist on the frozen streets in the late night, under the cardboard blankets, or the liquor store homes. keep praying, keep begging, keep on your knees. I'll keep walking.every young lady with straight black hair keeps me guessing its her, she was all i wanted and she'd never know it. i guess its called being out of your league, her being out of mine.or so they say. i would just say that beautiful young girl could have any promising young man she wanted, to pick me out of the billions would be foolish on her part. but still i wish. i don't know who is accepting these wishes or who chose to make them come true.
she's the girl that could save a guy like me from self destruction. i don't mean suicide, just the feelings of desolation and desperation and all those wonderful things that comes with it. not something that could be taken or asked for, it was her choice. nothing like the suspense of waiting on that single moment to happen, or not. the 33 gallon trash bags beneath my weary eyes are holding a flood, that at any single second could let loose a flood that would wash this mud off my shoes. the pain of waiting on this girl has me two pennies away from losing control of my mind. if i wish i could get my head on any other thing, any other pain, i would if i could. 4 hours of my day were spent on her and she'd never know.
passed closed curtain homes, i am a daylight ghost. fleeting around condemned buildings and bail bonds. i speak to no one, just pass looking the people I'm maneuvering around. could these people really be as happy as they look? am i really the only one feeling so hopeless. if 40 hour work weeks, TV, beer and kids at my age could make me happy, no thanks I'll pass. I'll keep my wasted life, never contributing to building someone Else's dream. i can't help but think, did i miss the train? was i stuck being the last one on the platform as it grew smaller in the sunset. was chasing the sunset the answer? I'm running in the opposite direction hoping the night would fall faster than that of the previous days. maybe someday I'll come across my own happiness and I'll be able to smile, those muscles in my cheeks haven't been used in years, and I'll be able to stand the daylight. maybe that day I'd throw those pills i took from work away. maybe my life would straighten up and I'd start to feel a hope growing in the pits of my stomach. maybe.
i tried to speak, all that followed was a cough blowing out the built up dust and the stale air that had been resting in my lungs, rushed from my exhaust pipe. choked up wishing the night could be here already, these sleeping pills had become the only sight of relief. i am 19, young and ready to take on the world. i wish that were true, I've lost sight of the things that meant so much to me. my ambition was the first thing to leave me, all other feelings followed suit as if to escape a life of disappointment. i hit bottom shortly there after. a father who made two mistakes in life never let us forget. as mistakes we would come to terms with being the broken condom, the precum, the failed pull-out. a life we don't want. a man that was just looking for fun on Saturday night. this man, this father, this person hasn't seen my face in over two years, its the only thing i have going for me now. these pills, five onto my tongue chased down with a three old day glass of water. i lay down my head at the thought of the day, one less to live. horns from the street wake me from an open window facing the street. i never could sleep well without it. something has happened, the flashing red and blue lights are dancing on the wall as the side effects wear off. i had gotten use to the spinning ceiling and the vomiting that ensues. i wash my face like all the shinny shit eating stars on the silver screen, a quick splash of cool water followed by a long stare into the mirror, into myself, wondering where things went wrong with me. i throw on the same clothes the previous three days had seen. down to the corner mart i pick up a coke, at this time 10 am almost feels too early to be awake, but the early mornings and twilight's of the night were the only times the cold air cleansed my body the only time i ever felt anything similar to being alive. just as the day begins to heat up, my cell rings. before i glanced at the caller i.d. I'd wish time and time again it would be her calling, she was everything i wasn't, she was the person that when i was around her nothing else mattered. as cliche as that sounds she was somebody i could see myself with. i never thought I'd have someone to say that about, most girls are as generic as white walls. but I'm my mind i knew it wasn't her.
i didn't answer, it was no use to talk to anyone anymore, the people at both ends of the line would always hang up mad. a voicemail would later tell me my sister was urging me to call my mother back. the rain in my head let up for a few hours, but the ground was still flooded I head down toward the school, incidentally the place i spent too many years not knowing what i was doing there. Rasputin, Henry the V, Cesar, pi, algebra, none of these things matter in life and death. but the routine of the 8 am march to class continues to this day, a fresh batch of kids were heading off to waste the first 18 years of life stuck inside, breathing chalk dust. my days were done there and i hadn't planned on doing anything remotely close to expanding my education. i have become the rake and shovel at the landfill, stirring up dirt and covering trash, doing my part in the destruction of this planet. brand new i would shine when any sort of light was near, now tarnished, chipped, dented and deserted after 5 pm. the school was behind me now, I'm not sure where I'm headed just yet. the beggars on James st. hold up cups at the sight of me. if i had any money I'd be on a train out of here. its strange to consider how someones life that started off possibly as new and stainless as mine ended up a slow moving train wreck. they would still plead with their god about his salvation, but they don't know god doesn't exist on the frozen streets in the late night, under the cardboard blankets, or the liquor store homes. keep praying, keep begging, keep on your knees. I'll keep walking.every young lady with straight black hair keeps me guessing its her, she was all i wanted and she'd never know it. i guess its called being out of your league, her being out of mine.or so they say. i would just say that beautiful young girl could have any promising young man she wanted, to pick me out of the billions would be foolish on her part. but still i wish. i don't know who is accepting these wishes or who chose to make them come true.
she's the girl that could save a guy like me from self destruction. i don't mean suicide, just the feelings of desolation and desperation and all those wonderful things that comes with it. not something that could be taken or asked for, it was her choice. nothing like the suspense of waiting on that single moment to happen, or not. the 33 gallon trash bags beneath my weary eyes are holding a flood, that at any single second could let loose a flood that would wash this mud off my shoes. the pain of waiting on this girl has me two pennies away from losing control of my mind. if i wish i could get my head on any other thing, any other pain, i would if i could. 4 hours of my day were spent on her and she'd never know.
passed closed curtain homes, i am a daylight ghost. fleeting around condemned buildings and bail bonds. i speak to no one, just pass looking the people I'm maneuvering around. could these people really be as happy as they look? am i really the only one feeling so hopeless. if 40 hour work weeks, TV, beer and kids at my age could make me happy, no thanks I'll pass. I'll keep my wasted life, never contributing to building someone Else's dream. i can't help but think, did i miss the train? was i stuck being the last one on the platform as it grew smaller in the sunset. was chasing the sunset the answer? I'm running in the opposite direction hoping the night would fall faster than that of the previous days. maybe someday I'll come across my own happiness and I'll be able to smile, those muscles in my cheeks haven't been used in years, and I'll be able to stand the daylight. maybe that day I'd throw those pills i took from work away. maybe my life would straighten up and I'd start to feel a hope growing in the pits of my stomach. maybe.
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