he was nearly twentynine and he still hadn't figured himself out,
still dedicated nights to the process of tearing up his moral ground,
laying his foundation, caught up in vacillation
between acts of possible valor- the ones to turn his life around.

he knew he would know somehow when he finally got it right
he was looking for that one sign-
the one they talk about in movies and
all the books which leave you shattered at the end,
the ones no one else has read but those who do
swear upon like they've never heard of the bible,
try to imitate the main character,
stumble into chaos and think they'll end up all right,
like in the movies-
a lucky plot twist and they'll own the night.

he wandered aimlessly,
up until the sun came out and the vampires went to sleep,
accompanied by cigarettes and the sound of his own head,
burned dirt and the cold of the city,
until the time of night where his words stalled
brain froze
and the space in his head became suddenly visceral,
paralyzed by feeling until his tongue and the roof of his mouth
sought each other out, pressed in a warm embrace
until the pain went away
until he closed up the wound behind his eyes
forgot the torment of seeing
until the night tore him open again.