Who are you that.
Thinks I"m so great.
I'm nothing.
Other than your grandiose over thought.
Imagination.
Barely able to feed myself.
Let alone be your.
Muse.

It's that nihilism that draws me in.
Gets me lost in her emptiness.
Where all we can hear.
Is the breath.
We can't catch.

I've lived alone so long.
I think I got lost in the dust piling up.
In this empty head of mine.
Stuck.
On.
Panic.
Accept the fear.
Melt into the moment.

This city.
Isn't something I remember.
Too harsh.
Too edgy.
Too many **** heads.
Constant violence and apprehension.
The modern urban world.
A paris on the prairies.

Every hope I had for a future.
More meaningful.
Than just dying tomorrow.
Has disappeared.
And, now I like to stare.
At that liminal state before death.
That spot.
Somewhere far away.
Distant.
Like my gaze.
Trying not to get stuck in the.
Tomorrow.
That's no longer there.