Slamming doors 

Looking into mirrors with no results 

going back rather than letting go

Jittery hands and helpless goodbyes

Wishing for a quarter yet repeatedly receiving a dime 

Wondering when the time would come that you didn’t wish to die

Widening eyes and opening palms

Learning to stand but accepting the fall

Routines, repeat, redo, robust 

Repetition is what hides the rust

Too much smoke not enough air 

Inhale the breeze, exhale the year 

Drink up the bitterness 

Eat away the pain

Run it all off in a day

Start with a beat and end with a tune
August was a bunch of blues