So many faces in the wind

At the train station

The Glasgow train at 1705 seems late

So many minutes wasted

Should i smoke a cigarette or will the nicotine be wasted

Spending too much time on contemplation

I hope I don't have to purchase a ticket so I can keep the little I have

The train is expensive but I missed the bus

Wouldn't mind a new car but that's too much fuss

4:30 AM.
I needed the lucky cigarette
but didn’t smoke it.
You were downstairs sleeping
though I had had too much coffee
to be able to join you.
All of that coffee was mixed
with whiskey creamer; I threw up
the next morning.
You were calm about everything,
keeping me from going over the edge.

4:30 AM.
I was staring at the snow
thinking about your touch
while the smoke fogged my room.
I needed your arm around me
as I contemplated a life different
to the one I’d been living.
The one I’m still living,
but having you around
makes it a hell of a lot easier.

Night is just night,
without it being told that
it should be dark
and sunless.

It is what it is,
by its own definition.
It does not need stars to shine
In order to make darkness meaningful.

Still, the stars shine.
They do what they do
Without self-acknowledgement,
They simply do.

Be.
Like night and stars
And meaningfulness
And Self-acknowledgement.

Carried home from a family occasion
and placed in the icebox,
slowly slid to the back of the fridge
as leftover moments fight for space
near the front.

Styrofoam predictions
of life after  childish ambitions
are accidentally neglected
and left to spoil,
unattended and tempted
with wayward growth.

You may find them again,
rummaging through,
making space,
or maybe just looking for something
you thought you lost.

Long since forgotten,
 the ideas molded
over the ages of a chilly
adolescence,
and what might have been promising
is now indistinguishable and unusable.

A small, unaffected edge may remind you
Of its purpose in a past life
and you’ll sigh
as you change the trash liner
to accommodate another failure.

You sometimes wonder
What you may have missed
piling so many options
only to be forgotten until they’re rotten.

It doesn’t help any
to be the one who has to retrieve it.
see what it is,
know what it was...
a subtle, sneaking certainty
of what it could’ve become.

more and more often, it’s too early
to stomach the sun
and you find the day
has begun without you,
as if it doubts your commitment
to present tense.

Still, you continue along hanging
from a precarious
cable car of ambivalence,
waving at each opportunity missed
as it passes you by,

your eyes
idly on the sky.

"Next time, next time"
You mutter

"Next time I'll give it a try."

C.e.M.
2.17.15
Edited 4.18.17

...Yet I still have visions of
Death and his father,

Disconsolate and privy
The tears of his mother

His love for her deep but
No one should know,
For her burden is heavy,
And her shoulders are low

6 billion,
7 billion,
she rotates all the more...

And yet I still have these visions
Of death and his father,

Furrowing along space without
Sister nor brother,
Sitting by his feet gaining his wisdom
Like fodder

The unenviable task,
Despised by all,
Such a burden to bear
Such a levy to toll...