I remember who I was when, and how I used to be.
I think a lot about death, and a lot about dying.
I think I’ve died a few times.
I hardly exist anymore, pleading with the dirty grass
and torn down dandelions.
Everything I am in full,
is nothing.
And will return the same.
Late nights,
Later mornings.
State to state shift.
I left my brain to dry
on a stretched out circadian.
Wondering where time went,
as I’m watching it float by.
After hours in hotels at night
A poignant still in the middle of monoliths
Fake bedrooms, specks of life
TVs flicker, little lights
To the tune of the growling highway
Like a nighttime souvenir
Soft ideas left hanging on the air.
no longer inspired by,
no longer remembered.
The walls of my skull painted,
with soft ideas and stains
burnt in like cigarettes.
Small holes, terrible edges.
Soft ideas abandoned
formless on my breath.
No longer inspired by.
6am: dawn fog folds me over and i slide into my skin again.
Sleep hangs on the apartment, 70 degrees. on my eyes in confusion.
Graceless stumble in full effect, I’ve been here before.
Quick history sets in and my senses register one by one, a smooth relation.
607am: Breathe.
Swaying in the silent morning
to this high-tone scramble.
Tuned out in the background
with the window’s early glow.