Cold air misting my cheeks during a pitch black disaster
It’s amazing what you’ll see, find, in a moment when there are no flares available
Beating my knuckles into rock and road while gravel and unseen watchers laugh
Momentarily stripped of drive, desire, any faith in anyone especially self
Flashing between I can do this to what will my last scream be, last message to an unmonitored mailbox
It’s winter, time to bury my dead parts hoping for budding growth yet these withered branches crack while hitting forest floor
I don’t want to move from my bed, why should I, prolonging inevitable failure while being a sedentary failure
Out in my town’s streets bare, waiting for bright headlights to come an untraveled street and ask, is it time to go home
Only replying with a verse, can’t be like this others have it worse, furiously brash mistakes fading out in freezing pitch black confusion.
