The New Year.
Some say it's a fresh start, others pat themselves on the back for
another year down, even though they probably don't deserve the acknowledgement. Some use it as an excuse, to get high, drunk, and all the things that follow so.

I see another year closer.

Another year I've waited to leave this town with its overly feigned cookie cuter houses and plastic people, if you can even call them people at all.
Another year closer to the year I can stop pretending. Another year closer.

Another year so much nearer to showing what black and white can really do, to all the little lights and yellow flowers and raindrops and white canvas.

So much closer. But I'll start here.

Hello, Poetry.
It's nice to see you again.