White SUVs parked
Through barren branches
Embracing the colors of the wood

Stone pebbles
Rolling through skulls
Like fireworks
Speaking dead Latin tongues
To cigarette fingered teenagers
Progressive and hardly realized
Healed imagination to start.
Red and Blue lights ink
The shaman's circle
And green smoke fills iron.
Half clothed, half chilled
Waiting for the world to be.

The only lit open signs at 1:08 am
are hanging in
the windows of whataburger, cash4gold,
and the racetrack down the street.

Foggy but awake,
I'd like to stay that way.
I'd like to stay that way.

And doesn't everyone eventually die by suicide?
Fake granite countertops biding conversations
on drugged up new years night.
No sleep can fix the negative,
acceptance beats grit-teeth hopelessness.

Foggy but awake,
I'd like to stay that way.
I'd like to stay that way.

You and I were a metaphor,
Bare feet in a morning meadow.
It sounded beautiful,
But we both left punctured and hurting,
Wondering why we thought
It would work so well.

Never stare out the window with only 3 minutes until work.
Ideas sink between priority and procrastination
and you're caught in the turbulence.
And the worst part is,
it's fulfilling.
More so than most meniality
moving through the heads
of every driver
in every car
on every street.

Cotton ***** replacing eyeballs,
light bulb socket eye sockets
glimpsing a contrast computer screen under sullen light;
small talk in the room behind me.

They're really getting into it
three quarters over the line between
I really don't know
and I really don't care.

One foot constraining the other end of reality.

And it's like everyone is shaven down
by their own empty hours
into glazen-eyed laughter.

Forward progress into
counting dirt
in a hole.

tired enough to sleep
not quite tired enough to dream