in the dark corner I blow

smoke rings at the shaft

of light that falls out of

my kitchen window to

break on the alley below

spelling out someone elses

words before dissipating

and finding their way back

to where they came from;

the doorways blocked

keeping us from the places

we aren't meant to go. In

my dreams the signs say

keep away in a fashion that

I am not accustomed to,

the sense of dread setting in.

there are days when I wake up in the post of pressing times and spend the hours looking for my place like a transient; my eyes scanning the places where skin meets skin, tracking the scent of something lost then found and lost again.

im sleepy and

the suns breath is

hot on my neck.

there are days still

where i wish i had

never met the sun.

down the street

from where I grew up

i saw my first blood moon

and the concrete there

keeps all my recorded histories

like a library of my days.

sometimes you smile

and sometimes you dont.

i live for the days you do.

somedays i mumble to you

while you sleep

about the dreams I have

where you still love me.

i keep putting these words up and out there

on the screen in little snippets and verses

but i dont think they truly convey what

i feel may be the hardest time ive ever had

in my entire life. I am an absolute wreck. And

I have so many people I need to be strong for

and am finding it hard to be strong just for

myself. i feel like a structure with no

cornerstone and a center of gravity

that shifts slightly every single day. I don't

want to be that pitiful guy trust me, I'm not

crying for help or attention. if someone close to

me would just put my face in their hands and

look me in the eyes and tell me that things

will change and get better, it would probably

do me a world of good.

every six seconds.

all seven traffic lights

in front of me turn green

in quick succession like

hanging dominoes

on a blue table

and the rain on my windshield

spells things out in other languages

a changing map of braille

wiped clean and rewritten

every six seconds.

the conversations rotate around subjects

that i feel neither comfortable or

necessary in the post of the day

and behind the clouds

the sun hides as if it did not

want us to witness it disappear.