The sound of water splashing against rolling tires blend with the staccato of rain.
Bouncing off the starry night print umbrella held by tightened hands, that fight the pull of heavy wind.
The pressure of tall buildings has compressed the otherwise lazy air, lifting the edges of the awning as if to pull her off and into the sky.
The slick of the sidewalk and smell or rotted earth fill in the space left by the sound of rain.
A wet workday walk, inching closer to the end of a week.

I see you in the little things
The straight lines of the fence you built
The shape of the swing you used to sit
The way the wind blows the leaves of that old oak
That you planted
With your dad when you were young
It was you favorite
Still is
Imprinted on you stone
Others will think it pretty
But I will know
You loved it and with great sad joy smile

Sticks and stone may break the bones but words are the only thing that hurt worse after
At least a black eye will heal, a shattered bone will mend
Flung like careless knives words can ruin lives
Words leave scars thick like canyon grooves
They bury themselves in the subconcious like a plague of burrowing maggots
Rotting the mind with its filth
Till they are the only thing we believe anymore
Despite their truth value words are the weapons of abusers and the careless cruelty of emotion
Words wound worse than sticks and stones ever could.

Its 2 again and like an old friend Insomnia keeps the dead waking
Swinging the doors of the mind wide open
Haunting me with my own doubts
Shaking old fears free of dust in deabilitating detail
Till my minds screams suicidal thoughts at the wall of crushing anxiety
That just bubbled up my throat like some sick truth that I can't determine I really feel because it was dragged forward in all this nonsensical late night rush
Like a gerbal I feel like Im circling around and around on that wheel thats never really going anywhere but keeps
Spinning and spinning away into a manic spiral that has periods of ups and downs
So chaotic I dont even recognize my own brain in the madness..
Cyclial and almost predictable
When everything was going good and then just suddenly isn't...

Can we go back again
To where it all made sense
To 98 when things where great and Saturdays meant cartoons
Not 6am and work again the same day in to days out
When sundays were spent outside an adventure in the trees
Scuffed knees and cherry seeds stuck between the teeth
Where an an hour had the power to make your imagination run
Instead of counting time by the coffee grinds that settle in your cup
Where did the magic go in this adulthood trap
The only thing that seems to linger from childhood is the urge to nap...

Sometimes life feels like a rotary wheel
          a
     d        r
    n         o
         u
and
          a
     d        r
    n         o
          u
it goes.....
The spherical dichotomy fades into monotony
           c
      g           i
   i                  r
     n             c
            l
sdarwkcab into some dark fiction that has become the day to day
Waking to dr
                      op
Forwards between a repeat of the next second of last week
Where l-i-n-e-s of memory are /b//l//u//r/r/ed// making each moment a cons?ued mash up key details.
That take energy to pick a p a r t into some semblance of an existence.

The loud thumping from high places
From the stalking in small places
Erie eyes around the corner
And suffocation without warning
He stalks me from room to room
Eyeing me down in displeasured doom
From early mornings and late at night
Hes overly attached and still uptight
How he rules from his furred throne
If you didnt know by now than consider yourself told!
His baleful glance can stun grown men.
He promptly plops down and states demand
King Doodle rules ons comand!
But how sweet his face is in delight that you can not help but give to his plight.
No matter how many times you trip being mad just doesnt stick
Not to this ball of sweetened demand
King Doodle we are yours to comand.