I spend time away;
it breaks me free from the monotony,
but it breaks me, still.
Delayed drops of silence
and warning bells times three,
out of the loop for years, until…
I find myself loopy,
wild beyond reason,
within closed doors,
for each passing season
neglecting the life.
For what, more?
I reached out my hand, sprained.
I gave another welcome, drained.
I failed to make friends and amends,
exhausted myself toward belated ends.
Here, no matter the public,
the contact fades; it always does.
I’m not looking for fame; I want things to work;
yet the old nonsense and noise
overshadow everything; I regret,
holding myself to the flame,
short of entertaining or entering
the eternal furnace…yet.
I long for respite,
should decline become my middle name.
I don’t want to turn back, now, though
too often looking back with shame.
I can and plan hope for the better
years, anew in bad health.
The new world I feel, it feels like it’s falling apart.
The older fool of thirty years
becomes blind in more ways than just one;
ahead of the curve, he was, and still is
in too many ways wrong to count.
It’s so hard to climb in life, and yet so easy to fall.
And so, I bite my tongue, again;
I chew my lip, and take a sip,
I shoot from the hip
in my way, slowly
falling to the darkness that resides before me.