Today opened like a fresh wound.
And as fleas and spiders of malaise and
listlessness slinked near the ****,
I could feel
their tiny legs tickling my skin.
And even though
the wound was as temporary as a mirage,
it was still equally as debilitating.
And so I tripped feebly
through the day,
biding my time with an inner calm
that was really something more like
exhaustion.
But today, something a little,
tiny bit,
like love
stood like poles keeping me on my feet,
but it was more like longing,
like dreaming of winter
when the heat of summer
remains a solid, unwavering truth.
Today, I was a lost leaf tossing in the wind
to the whims of my heart's
incomprehensible, but easily repressible,
ache. And when it all came to a stop,
I could almost taste
the metal of the grate, as cold water
rushed against me,
and into the storm drain below.