I’m the man humming to himself in the corner.
The one you will not notice,
until ten years down the road
when it’s last call,
and the dance floor has begun to clear.

When you are left all alone.

                                But that is fine,
                                                           I honestly don’t mind.

   I have a flask in my pocket and the taste of trouble on my lips.

I do enjoy dancing now and then, but never mind going home alone.
Sometimes it is preferred.

You will walk up to me
    and timidly ask
                              through drunken words
            for my hand to dance.

I will smile and answer,

“No.”

Then I will softly brush away the tear running down your cheek
and leave you to drown
under all the bridges you have burned.

No other task have I witnessed more arduous,
than crawling out of the filth of our souls.
Black stain of self destruction,
the cynical hatred of life clinging to each heartbeat like weeds on a home
once majestic,
but abandoned to ruin.
Such frustrated sadness in the hindered steps of a man retreading the same path,
searching for confidence which waits off the beaten trail.
You can teach the tools of self discovery,
but cannot force hands to wield
while they fumble over unnecessary burdens still being held.
The world does not corrupt us,
we corrupt ourselves.
We build the walls around us that become a sanctuary or a prison,
but no wall is strong enough to withstand the will of a determined man.
Find your courage and I'll do the same.
We can crawl away from the putrefied ruins and be reminded of who we once dreamed to be.
Destroy yourself and rebuild again and again until you are monumental once more.