The Foundation.

When you feel
those bloodshot eyes
sliding down your back
or the cold slithering hand
of another
busted relationship
brushing past your ear,
do you feel
scared
ambitious
or
lost?
I feel all and yet nothing
broken
and yet
I am rebuilt with each shattered brick--
a testament to who I was
and who I am
but
what will I become?

A Stranger Once.

When we knew each other,
did we really know?
And when we kissed
did we bare it all?
And now that you've left
I feel this familiar haze
creeping in
I think we're strangers
again.

Rain.

Today I feel like the rain:
grey
and cool
and impartial
to the life that happens
with or without me
before and after me
and during me as well.
My problems
will spill over into next week
an overflowing gutter
of rain water,
dead leaves and twigs,
a cigarette butt
disintegrating.

- - -

It's been raining a lot here. I like it: the chill in the air, the damp air hanging off me like silk, the way everything goes green after a day of heavy downpour. I keep my window open because the sound of raindrops smashing into the ashphalt is soothing. When I hear it, I breath again. I forget how tired I always am. I forget my money problems and how all my friends are travelling and I'm stuck here working two jobs and barely scraping by, barely affording to pay my rent and eat and save money to go to school. Just so I'll get a decent job. Maybe.

I guess I just feel stuck. More stuck than I've ever been in my life. And I feel miniscule and unimportant and beaten down. I don't even know why I'm writing this here, but I guess it's times like this when my writing is in some respects at its best. It's a catharsis I suppose, a release for my tired soul.

Roads.

The road moves
in a slow methodical dance,
each twist
each turn
each spread of the shoulders
only to contract
with the next cyclical  movement.
I lose myself in
her body
her hair
that black as coal stare
as she rips down my walls
piece by piece
and I watch
the road go by.