in a minute.
i'll be back on the daily grind.
in 9 hours, i will have earned
the next days off.

earned.
like it wasn't mine already.

i composed a proposition
that would, once again
leave me alone
to play with gems on the hardwood floor.

zombie killing songs
bring everyone in the room
together again.
nostalgia gives us all the data we need
to connect.

afterglow hangovers
felt better when i was younger.

i'm getting too old to do this.

i propose my composition, instead.
telling the truth
never lasted
so long.

i rerolled the film,
and lost - to chance - a cathedral memory.

i lessen the shadows
and find myself
playing with gems again
alone,

the ceiling fan sounds like it's going to fall off.

we chose to live by the motto
that some things are better left unsaid -
another phrase we add
to our blackbook of rationalizations.
instead we reject emotion
and once again turns ourselves off
before anything hypothetical
can become a problem.
rationalization used to cover
the smell of
fear.

with the tapping of your foot against mine
i feel a warmth that chases me out your front door again.

i crack two eggs onto a hot pan
the opaque texture turns into different shades of white
if that is even possible.

i throw my change into the paper cup,
sipping on today's means of earning
some pocket money.

rent and other obligations
halt new acquisitions and planned expeditions
and trap me in my own living room on friday nights.

i'm almost out of popcorn breakfast
sweat by the fan in silence
and wait for inspiration to shock me

and get me the hell out of here.