Thought I was ready for the day
but the day turns ever so often
it’s not that I don’t hear
what you have to say
they’re just more words to get lost in.

the gray skies
began to fall

meaningless blur
of alcohol

fleeting of time,
losing of faith

those worst days,
i was a poet

What if I showed you all the poems I wrote
Would you taste the asphalt
I felt
As I sat and scribed
Would you see the graffiti
The street signs, city life
Would it mean anything

Bad ones build character
Demolish hope

Days that define are also the days that leave you damaged and dented

I slept to escape pain but in doing so also avoided change

i wanted to know the moon
every crater, every imperfection, every mark
so hollow and white
yet filled with days of experience
i became envious one night
of her need to be so far away but
see everything, still.
how she could never get bored, exist
only as a symbol and as a light source
and be

nothing
more.