Awake
again
and the music is still playin'
from the kitchen
where you still sit
Alone
inside your head
Smoke swirls
around your hand
I can hear your puckered lips
**** the life out' that stick
exhaling mumbled words
to Simply Red
reaching for your cup
filled with gold
-to fill the soul-
I sit
at the end of my bed
mesmerized
by you.
As a child I would awake in the middle of the night to soft music playing from the kitchen where my mother would be drinking, chain smoking and singing along to old classics. I would lay there for hours watching her, in wonder of what she was thinking. I could tell she was sad and lonely, though she never showed it during the day. I never interrupted her, because I knew this was her way of meditation, her way to cleanse and fill her soul.