.

Passages trail the utter existence
along brick faced wanderings
with puddles reflecting death
in the vast wasteland that calls
from bled out dreams

I listen to the footsteps,
eager to please, left by the curb
beneath graffiti warnings
in spray painted quotes
dripping with ease and intent

Their cadence sends
splashing ripples onto
nicely pressed slacks,
collecting glares from bus stop loafers
with exact change and nowhere to go

As I find my existence
fading in the far back seat,
staring out of a smeared rear window,
exhaust fumes wave good bye
to the nothing I have become

How do people go to sleep at night?
   I've never understood, I must confess
   for only once the dawn exudes its light,
   does my fatigue subdue me with duress,

But when the sun is hid behind the clouds,
  or buried in the snowy mountain tops,
  my thoughts are racing, and they're very loud,
  and seldom is it that they ever stop,

For, something in my brain, I do suspect,
  is wired in a way that is amiss,
  so, I take evening hours to reflect,
  instead of diving into sleep's abyss
  
  But, oh! If only ****** grew on trees,
    perhaps, a night of rest would come with ease.