Sometimes you strike me as a
Paper airplane:

Somewhat flimsy,
Somewhat crumpled up
And tired,

Wayward,
Stumbling on and swaying-

A product of all those
Late nights

In night-oil'd
Bars,
Blue-lighted,
Beer-lighted,

And of all those sleepless nights
Preparing for them
Alone,

Unsure how to open and close
Your mouth properly.

Cracked labi,
From lack
Of saliva.

And sometimes you strike me as alive.
Like you wanted it this way.

That
You trained your body to be
Hollow

To allow your spirit
More room to
Dance with the beams of light

That lap at your heels
As you
Approach the
Alikabok:

Cheap ***** playground from youth.