Make change. buy a loosy. *** a lite.
Sit down on the street outside.
Stare up at the moon,    and start to write.
.buzz from the smoke kinda gets me high,
Inside to pull my clothes from the washer and put them in to dry.
It's a new year now, 20 25, there's a coin hanging from my bag that reads,
                         "Grateful I'm Alive."

...wasn't sure if I still knew how to write.

My guitar, ignored, had gone out of tune.
It made noise anyway,
                  driving away
                   a bit of depression that loomed.

If I'm as sick as my secrets, but wear them on the outside, why in truth, do I have times when i feel so empty
                                                  ?..it's not right.

                 [Clothes are Dry]

My therapist wants me to unpack issues
  i keep rolled up tighter than my socks.
'Cause
           there are 2 "go-bags,"
              one under my bed,
                and one next to my heart..
I keep them both
  for when things fall apart,
             when things go dark
                 and I have to re-start.
'Cause,
     Something  inside  
        says I'll be running forever ,
                       No Matter how  long
                                           i seem
                                                        to
     ­                                                               st­op.