Sometimes,
There is no point
In holding onto hope.
Sometimes
You just
exisit.
Maybe you are cast away,
Riding on the notes of of a piano
That drift into the empty lobby.
Where the carpet reminds you of your first apartment.

Maybe sometimes its all nonsense that fills your mouth and hoodwinks the special moments that shouldve felt like a rising sun after hours sitting in the cold. Thinking of revalations.

Maybe this cigarrette tastes like nihilism and the smoke looks like you feel.

Maybe your fingers are burning with lust of creation but the rest of you cant catch up.

Maybe you swallow and shift in your seat trying to peice together the exact moment that you couldnt stand waking up anymore. Maybe this nothing just isnt enough and you need more because the ciggarets stopped working a month ago and everytime you see yourself in the mirror its a shade of blue youve never seen before. And maybe in the shower with your head pressed agaisnt the tile you wonder how well the water would mix with your blood and how long the curtains could hide the scene.

Maybe when you look at the stars it doesnt look like forever but feels like a box with little pinholes poked in the top so you can get just enough air. Maybe your chest collapses trying to figure out how to breath again and maybe nothing helps and it all tastes like ash and maybe you punch the ground, ****** your knuckles and look at the damage with a strange curious numbness wonder what just happened.

Maybe tomorrow...

Maybe not.