The last time you said that you screamed it, "******* parasites, always looking over my fence." although there was no one there. It stayed like that for a few weeks. It was obvious the wobblies had turned on you, no more safe place for a union supporter.
             The tracks that lead to out of town kept rearing through your skull as if an invite had been sent through some unknown path of communication. The maddness lasted, sometimes it was worse. One day in particular you pinned your curtains closed until there wasn't one speck of light to be seen inside. "They're coming, you wait, they are timing everything". On that night you ran the shower and shut the door. As steam arose into the room you swallowed twenty sleeping pills and placed a plastic bag over your head. Radio blearing in the backround either for comfort or to drown out any sounds of gasping or both! When they wheeled you out of the house your arm fell off the side of the stretcher as if you were saying goodbye. You would have been embarrassed at the thought of your cold white hand waving. You were angry and scared and had said goodbye years before. There was no need of one last. You left like you came, sadly and yet somehow smiling as if you might have known something no one else did. Maybe you did sweetheart, maybe you did.

Empty feelings enhanced by empty bottles by empty hands.
Lasting and longing the lasting warmth longing for again.
Crying your tears while crying your point since the town crier died.
Forgetting your heart while forgetting your first kiss, forget.
Moved on, not you but them, Moving in a new life, a new partner. Moving long passed where you have your memories stored that are fresh as the day, like the smell of holidays or your best friends house. Funny how you remember, you remember these things. Those memories are just memories. It's time to anew and start forwarding your own mind. There is nothing you could have done. There is nothing you could have done to keep these from just being memories.

It is the fault of a firefighter for putting your desires out. The blame of a cop for ruining the smile. The town itself for letting these figures in.

You were burning, happy and alone. The stereo played something in the back round that reminded you of a loss, a loss you must not recover from. The improbable odds of winning that war with mourning. Keep looking at the clock, it never stops.

You wrapped yourself in the blanket on the cold, damp cement floor and noticed the paint peeling off the walls seemed to morph if you stared long enough. It was jail, it was honest. It wasn't the lowest of places but it sure wasn't your desire.

These ******* broke you, only laughing at the shattering of hearts and swearing they were needed for your sake and mine. I guess its always been coming that way, down the line, down the lost direction so many pointed in.

I am now lost with out the chaos, without the dignity of knowing you or I, will be ok in the claws of the madness they call "order". You never needed anyone but yourself. You never needed. you never. You, burning and buried.

Too much. To wild for this place. Comfort with me until the end and I still sat there, like a little boy, confused and blind, while your body gave its last twitch or spasm. Lindsey helped me put you on the blanket they so thoughtfully put on the floor for you? For us? I don't know but it wasn't peaceful or calm. My heart raged with anger and feeling of betrayal. Those feelings exist still. I'm no good I decided twice, I walked you to it. The end, but just a beginning of my sorrow I cry driving sometimes and will walk into a store all glassy and red eyed, sobbing. I feel you are ok. I guess that is all anyone wants. I just hoped you'd be great. Not to me, but in your head. I lost

Alas a final touch! Its strange laying for hours waiting for solitude, for your exit.  Of course the time has been reveled in and oh the apprize! But somehow I disesteem your warm arm over me. It can be so hard. Always hard to really love when you just want to be alone. Its so hard to be alone at night and the wind is blowing or the snow is gathering on the outside of your sill. It can be hard. Although I like you here, I find pleasure in your goings a while after your comings. It can be so hard to love.

Angels, smoke rising up. Alcohol like a wave crashing inside you. Sometimes you get lonely, but there is usually a reason. Look for angels, have a drink. Take care of yourself

November 28th. Been up for 16 hours. Time to lay in bed and do it again tomorrow. Do what? "it" that might mean a drink or a job or a confession. Each day is different. "You are lucky to wake up" said an old man working a train somewhere in North Carolina.