Back to counting the hours
until I get to go home.
Back to awkward encounters
with strangers I know.
Back to wearing my earphones
in tense public spaces.
Back to standing alone
in a sea of the faceless.

Back to socially inept,
standing in corners,
intense introversion
and wishing it was over.

Back to hiding my flaws,
my quirks and my oddities--
not talking too much
because I say all the wrong things.

It's back to the grind,
and I'll muddle through
because at least when it's over
I'll be home with you.

I think for others Daily
Rarely given space or time or Air We
All must trust the Wind gust of
dust and skin gone so scaly
Yet I slither as slow as snails to my home
for me in my dome
to slip into the zone
I sip a bit of foam
from my cup of coco
thus releasing me with an
(Ohm)
of work for others Daily
Rarely given time or space or air WE
all must trust the Wind gusts of dust
and skin gone scaly
So we slither as slow as snails
to a home
for me
deep in my dome
sipping on the zone
bit off coco cup foam
slow snails slip
(Ohm....)
I master peace
Wind
(Release!)

I never mastered the grind.
That won every girls affection.
I guess it's really quite difficult.
When you become your own deflection.

Once I was that nineteen year old.
Drunk and disorderly.
Grinding on your back.
You got bored of me.

Sure its fun - for both it seems.
Sometimes it's a horrid match.
A silly game with an undefined winner.
Sometimes it's all you need to land your catch.

But as you grow you see things clearly.
The smoke machined air thins and the lights begin to brighten.
You see the complexity of your dilemma.
You've assumed you'd get it all - what a great big error.

You want the beauty you've desired night long.
But you've gone about it all wrong.
You want the companion most never find.
But will she see it or remain blind.

It seems one is possible.

Where do I go to be one whole person?

Not for me another love
like choking fear
It will not budge
I dare not blink
for it now seems
by choosing drink
I dwell in dreams

I grind to bits
my words and teeth
when searching through
my history:
to lift above
what lay beneath
all that broken masonry.

...
words and foto Tommy  Carroll

15 cans of beer
to drown the mind daily,
after work,
is no way to live.
(It's a way to die.)

It's been a while.

And I don't give a ****.

Too much on my mind,

& I hope you are okay with it.

Which path are we destined for
Life's choices are not always voluntary
Outcomes are our decisions