Once again, 7 years later, Im faced with these Lights.
The music changed but the mood still the same.
I relax.
Head tilted up I watch these Street Lights whistle a tune by my memories. Strange  people, the car an anomaly from times known, but this feeling... Still so much the same.
No curve this time, no speed limit; like we cared then or now.
Instead of school tomorrow it's a job, instead of teachers it's higher ups. Regardless.
I ask myself the same question now as I did then, "Can we make it?"

"The first step is always the hardest."  I've recited this over and over in my consciousness.
"Grip the rail, tight. "
Pursed with dried paint to smooth over the lumps of people gone before you.
" You're never the first one to go. "
Eyes forward and chin up I gather myself.
" It's only stairs, " I say over and over.
" It's only stairs," they say.
Now, faced with only upward motion.
Now, faced with only moving forward.
I look out the window to see the moon waning, waxing strong with my ascent.
4x32 are tiles on the floor.
6x15x18 is the case.
Hold my hand.
Guide me.
Guard me through this night.
By morning I will have reach this light.
"It's only stairs." We say.

When you bleed out for so long you forget what it's like to have a pulse.The sensation of dust dries the bones, hollows out the eyes, and makes breathing a quantum equation you just can't bear to think about.

Thoughts become brittle, your heart beats over time, double-paced, trying to fight against the slipping sands in your viens while playing time keeper to the beat of a drum.

You become stripped, barron, naked before the Almighty God and beg for Him to just wet His finger so that He may cool your cracking lips.......... But there's a chasm between you two.  Between your higher functions, ***** and brain, between your salt and soul.

You remember what it's like to bleed deep red instead of grainy grits of sediment. You remember what it's like to be made of something lighter than desert. You remember what it's like to be cut, having yourself drip to the ground instead of blown away in the breeze.

It's the letting of blood that heals you. Blood letting that removes the black,  viscose, oil burning through your arteries.
It's blood letting that clears the thick smog of cigarette smoke from your lungs.
Blood letting... Gives you back a mind made of sanity, washed clean of the ashes of yesterday's burnt memories.
I'll tell you how to pick up and walk again... If only you'll let a little blood

Kneel before a throne in which a king never sat, yet you drink up all his wine. Throw it all up at his chair, but keep coming back time after time.

Kiss the ring around the hand, from a distance it looks so clean. But the closer you get to the ******, stained, porcelain it begins to lose it sheen.

Pour another drink for the servant, the one who could never rise. But now I see the reason why they keep us down, buckled with all their lies.

Continued, though, Ill drink my beer, smoke a smoke, and playing the "no more the wise", but secretly I'm just biding my time waiting for your destruction and demise.

These hands that have held you as a wild child in a dream are the same hands that throb to choke you and muffle your screams.
These hands which guided and guarded you down those stretches of hospital halls are now the hands that push you down to fall.
These hands once caressed the jagged, pink, scar where your heart used to lay become the hands that wish to tear it away.
These hand that made sure you fell asleep through all that pain now are the hands that would cut themselves to beat out your brain.
These hands that used to pray for you like a ***** ready to be ****** are clinched in two fist now ready to make the first throw.
These hands that ached for you, fed you,  and tried so ******* hard are just the hands of memories now deep tissue scars.
... These hands.. Would have killed anyone, in dirt and cold blood.. Are now the only hands holding back the rage of my flood.
.. These hands, they still work for you. Even if you're no longer here with me..... These hands, they're still here, waiting... One day.. You'll see.

A life based on "likes"
Click
Do you approve of my new trendy, hipster, selfie?
Click
Do you think this latte, tea, cup of ******* makes me look more sophisticated?
Click
Does this beer in my mouth and guts in my hand make me look like I'm fun?
Click
Can anyone tell Im starving for attention?
Click
Can someone give me self validation?
Click
Is anyone out there?
Click
All I can hear is the echo of click.
I like

Laying on a chair made of beans.  Head propped up somewhere in the cloud.  I wonder to my self.
Where to now?
How far away is Wonderland?
Tip toe down the road.  Loss the feeling in your legs. Fly to the moon.
I am the river. The star. I'm glue.