Hello, old friend.

Creamy paper
Like a ******'s skin
Waiting for me to ravage it
With bold strokes and
Soft kisses of shading.

Blacker than night
My charcoal glides
Fluidly across the page
Making my marks
Expressing my heart
A truer friend never found.

This is more addictive
Than any drug I've ever taken
Or ever could take.

Hours pass
Yet you're still with me
My dear friend
My art.

The smoke swirling upward
From my lit cigarette
Is blue and grey and silent.
The air kisses my bare skin
Cooling the summer from it.
Autumn is coming.
The trees will show their russet hair
The skies will be clouded
All will smell crisp and clean
And in this time where
Everything is dying,
I will begin anew.

It has come to my attention
That I am not all right.
Some may call me sad.
Others pathetic.
Still others find me fascinating
A person to know
A wise woman.
I may be some or none of those things.
I am me.
I am melancholy
And I am bitter
I am sarcastic
Even caustic
My smiles may not be genuine
And I see little need for small talk.
I am myself
For who else would I be?

I don't want to be here.
I feel it in my mouth
Like a drink I can't
Bring myself to swallow.
An uneasy feeling
When I meet flashing eyes
And see lips curl in a sneer.
I don't like these people.
They don't much like me either.
Flat-screen televisions blare nonsense
Consumers bustle in
Sell sell sell
Buy buy buy.
Sniffs of disapproval
A burly manager with his finger in my face
This is how it is to be done
No personality
No individuality
Sell sell sell.

On a day like today
When the clouds have hidden the sun
And the wind is cool and rain threatens,
I brew tea.

On a night like last night
When sadness is a knife
And salt stings my cheeks,
I brew tea.

When inspiration strikes,
When night descends,
When love leaves,
When friends come,
When rain falls,
When sadness calls,
I brew tea.

To whom it may concern
Though there aren't many of you at all.
I am deeply sorry.
Not an apology at all, no.
I am a sorry sort.
One to steer clear of,
You may catch the taint of my
Sorryness.
There are ghosts around me
Of squandered opportunities,
Chances never taken,
Disappointments.
Oh, I am sorry.
I am sorry that I may never meet you,
Though I know that you exist.
I am sorry that we may never find the
Joy that the other can bring
Though I am sure that that joy would be fleeting.
I am sorry that I love you
But sorrier that you have no idea
And that I don't know who you are.

It envelopes me in its silky embrace
Holding me close
Smelling of rain and promise.
It's defined by the soft glow of street lights
Cheap perfume and cheaper dates
Sly looks from across the room
An alleyway that is a makeshift bordello.
The sizzle of cooking meat
The chatter of the young and beautiful
Standing in line for another seedy nightclub
The sound of my heels on wet pavement.
This is the night, and it is mine.