I lay here on my lawn below the sunrise.
That's known for the comfort warmth,
it grants my spirit.

I release my hate into an unknown atmosphere,
as the pollution eats it away.
While my body relaxes to the,
dancing grass; that tickles my soft skin.

The smell of my grandfather garden,
shows each breath honesty.
Breathing out the paranoid headaches,
and inhaling the victory of self respect.

I listen to the silence of the trees,
sending peace into the
wonders of my mind.

Allowing me to relinquish any control,
and still feel as one with myself.

There's an insight to this mysterious downpour where each rain drop reminds me of how liked your coffee black. Our slow chaotic moments where you gilded your hand through my hair to comfort my anxiety. Giving me tortured thoughts that are an fiction red reviling each one of your lies. Leading to an iced tomorrow with that wicked lust you have for the other women. The one who plays enlightenment tricks on you but you only see her for the beauty she has. I wonder when you kiss me and pull away to look at my face do see her or do you see the women you once loved.

A stone wall that's turning dull from each witness; who leans against it waiting upon their desperation for our spare change. Sorrowful eyes that are so abbernat in this cruel world. He no longer notices people anymore only figures who live in a luxury world compared to him. He lives with just the worn down clothes with that reek of last weeks dumpster dive. 
      He rubs his grimy hands through his greasy hair. Pretending it feels like the women’s freshly washed hair whom sitting across from him. Eating a meal that's not only tasteful but also warm and  made with no worries of mold.
His stomach begins to cry, and the smell tries to water his month but he's too dehydrated, too weak to even move away. His bones so brentel he can barely lift his little jar filled only with two dollars worth of change. He slowly closes his pale, thin, eyelids, using his narrow, vainly hands to rub his raspy skin with those open scrapes explaining his years of loneliness.
     His only companion is his self harm from the nights filled with blistered feet.  Slouching against this dry wall, causing another dull shade. Mumbling among the birds with his drained whistled voice begging for somewhere to sleep.

The cold breeze hits me with many hammers of shame. It pounds my mind as I watch each car pass through these busy roads. They are all in such a hurry to get somewhere. I sit here on the edge of this rooftop - alone, listening to whispers that fill my consciousness with negatively:  Let go.