and there he was, longing for you.
with one last cigarette in his hand, he began to converse with heaven.
and made conversation with purple clouds.
as the lights flickered ; he asked for rain.
to feel.
to embrace a feeling longed and almost lost.
the sensation on his skin. a refresh.
a touch. a conversation. a meaning. something.

alas, but no rain, as he tried to burn up the smoke which hovered.
yet, in his solitude. there, for the first time, he encountered no peace.
but wonder. but questions. but to no avail, all had failed him.

he brings himself back to more wonder: where had everyone gone to ?
where'd he find himself back unto this silence.
and as he understands the bane of running in a circle, he found the purple sky, his friend and his foe at the same time.

and as he struggles with the battle of the gorges within himself.
he suffers in silence to those without a questionable ear.
he is but a shadow that walks by day, and almost nothing consumed by night.
what a complaint. what a pathetic state. what a pandemic.

how true he is to his own thoughts, yet unto his actions. deeds. he is unable to perform.
where does he stand in such a circumstance ? how would this blunt arrow pierce into such a wound.

and thus, death surrounds him. of which travels by far and stricken him.
what life this is. to be occupied by such fiends.
tonight, i will say fuck it.


tomorrow's a new day.