I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.

How much money
could the contractor
have saved
without them?
Easily thousands,
but would it be worth
blotting out the sun?
Workers shivering
at their desks,
wishing for
brighter lives.
Clients choosing
the competitor,
who's employees
shine a little brighter.
The windowless building
closing its doors
because they couldn't
afford the bills,
all because
they saved some
money on the windows.

I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.

whiff of her long hair
black lashes on her oval eyes
crescents on her lips
slender hands
sparkle adorned meek finger
n her ****** skin
thy beside

eyes are shut
lips are mum
hands anchored to lap

yet i see the glint of her eye
hear her word
feel her hand

an echo from da time gone
its just that she is gone

------the egotist

a ride on the bus
sitting in the back row
staring out windows

I close my eyes among the trees,
Hoping that the forest will tell me what
I want to hear.
Inside me is a cesspool of anger 
And wanting-to-stay-this-way.
But the forest is alive with
Joy and jubilation, life and happiness.
I breathe in her song 
And join in the refrain.

Acquainted with the forest,
Dirt between my toes,
Earth exhales a whisper,
I am finally close
Enough to listen.

Listen to the rain pour.
I mean- listen to the world's roar.
The wind; brash and arrogant.
Unseen forces leave strong trees bent.

*Lightening cracks open a blackened sky,
rolling thunder follows to say goodbye.

I still sit there, on the couch furthest from the television in the lounge.
From there I can get a glimpse out of the curtained, front window.
I used to sit there when I was waiting for you to come see me in excitement.
Now I still sit here waiting for you to come see me in an utter ball of depression, as I know it won't happen.
But I will still sit here and listen to each car go past and compare it to how yours sounded and hope with every part of me that you come back.

Strangers come and go,
As I sit all alone,
Thoughts going all over the place -
spiraling out of control.

I sit as my mind wanders.
My mind travelling to places I physically have not been
I am at the center of the Earth
Then suddenly I am flying high among the birds

Yet I remember I am merely sitting
Yet I remember of how trapped I truly am.

I sit.

My thoughts are ignored.
My ideas incapable of being translated into reality.

And I realize I am only but sitting.