It feels as if I'm sinking
into the deep end again,
Mulling over the particulars
of nothing, I find myself
longing; wanting, things.
I stare out my window,
Curled up on its ledge
like a feline, discerning
the character of lamplight
and the quality of shadows
cast on a row of houses and
the sidewalk. I am this lost broadcast
of resounding consciousness,
I am a lonesome psychonaut,
and it's possible I'm an apostate
because I do not use drugs much
anymore. I love the dark, the rain

and the tranquility found in a storm.
I am a human with a quiet addiction.

I am a silent fiend.
I am too old to care
and too young to die.

I spent far too long striving to be ordinary.
Previously, only when nothing mattered
did I feel truly free. What does it mean
to say this? I try to remember not to care
too much but
I must be sure
to love more than enough. Atardecer, amanecer.

The city is quiet
on this stoney
Sunday evening.

Some students are hungover,
Some carry on the ReSession.

Dusk; and the streets are zen,
Clear-skies and lamplight
shining down as night sets in.

Who's on the recovery buzz,
Who's keeping it going?

Trying to survive
the long road home
but if you want to live
you ought find a new way home.

Talk to yourself like you would
someone you love. High places,
Low stations; can't place the hour
as I walk through these suburbs.

Some people are so alive and full of life,
Some people just want to die
as the world burns
around them

because nothing is
so warm.

You know,
I could have told you

so much more
if I weren't so afraid
of the stars and those lives
that I left behind all those closed doors.

I dreamed of 839 last night,
I dreamed the gang was back together
and it really messed me up.

Here comes the last festival
of this lost summer,
*"Safe as ****."