My face pierces the day greater than the beams through my dusty drapes that melt endlessly against the wind.

Neighbors are mowing again - or off elsewhere working.

I see the older lady next door leaving her house. She has a broken down old man who comes out to drive occasionally.

But she walks.

She's got nice **** and I can smell alcohol on her breath at all hours of the day.

I can tell she was the type who gets loud at the party when most other girls had gone home.

I know the type - the type who's presence motivated me to drink more and think less.

Now, I'm just a sad sack peeking out my drapes at the other sad sacks peeking out their windows at me.

I mourn the loss of another unproductive day while drifting off to sleep every night.

I wake up in the morning and grieve for the past few hours of sleep that have ended.

Woefully **** and shower in contempt to the work that diverts whatever shred of energy I have to figure the path of shortcuts I must take to appear worthy of the hourly wage I use to pay my mortgage.  

More days than not, I will find a ghost task to steal away from work to nap heartily between reruns of Star Trek and bowls of cereal - the tomb where my legacy is laid to rest.

The hours seem glorious while I'm distracted from expectations and responsibility. If only I could carry on this way with no interruption.

Regret and shame settles heavily when the expectations and responsibility commence.

Medicine only takes the edge off. I'm in the same line. I read the same magazine covers to avert eye contact with the old folks who wait days or weeks trying to get insurance verification.

So this is what it's like to be a grown up. Late bills, missed appointments, and a disappointed spouse. It's the worlds longest suicide.

Most likely brighter than the moment when trees divide light beams between branches and leaves.

Sea foam mantra chant:
     Like an old song
     Like an old song
     Bring back what I've lost

I forget how to love by the evening.

Love paralyzes me in the morning when I awake.

Master of inaction complete with heightened self inventory, daily beatings, and advanced proclivity.

Machine boots stuck in the mud and walking slowly. Tough trudged - trotting wounds toddling septicity and self inflicted brain damage with battery acid.

Living roach life - keep self image commensurate with meeting low expectations consistently.

Gradually melted down. That which overflows cools outside the cast. A shrunken face with blunt features reveals a repulsive bulk of damaged mass when the light hits it just right.

Is it elegance or ignorance? Subcutaneous subterfuge. Blanketed and varying slightly, insolvent and limited. Bourne amidst a social caste of wealth or not for you.

The reigning victors make the rules. Life is a habit, not a reflex. To learn I must clear my mind of unnecessary clutter and make order within the hoard.

It's a shared pain that shifts weight as denial grows. Each of us has suffered the grief of loyalty unreciprocated.

You held my faith as I held your hand. Your grip loosened and like salvaging a favorite paperback book, pages slipped out individually until an empty shell met back to front.

That shared pain is called to fill in the empty spaces that naïveté leaves. The weight becomes a burden on those of us who expect more.

There is no resolution for betrayal. I lock my fears up tight and covet the pain.

You can see the ones who shoulder this burden in the warm grave of routine, going through the motions of daily life without a smile or by putting off life's responsibilities for the sake of blissful sleep.

Not just sort of okay. The ice melts and freezes faster the second time.

I've seen it.

Few words mean everything in a world that doesn't shut up. The enemy knows you better than yourself - it's you, with an objective view. I can crumble my tower quicker than any studies conducted have shown, but I like to make my suffering last.

So cheers to my reflexive world shrinking efforts that make my body fatter everyday.