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.