TropicalStarfish
Well-known member
Silence at first.
The noise in my head stops,
only to be replaced by the humming of the machine.
I take a break from my desperate attempts to outwit my own mortality.
Everything in order, everything in it's place.
Who is the ghost that lives here?
I open the tin and pinch the contents into the device.
Packing the tobacco and sliding it into a tube,
my mind again is seized by thoughts I'll never recall.
Slipping on my shoes and coat, I sneak out into the night.
Just to steal a few moments more.
To bask in the beauty of the night,
trying all the while to forget,
this string of nows will meet its end.
It's cold, offensively cold.
The air attacking my senses,
I fight back with a flame producing spark.
The contents of my vice begin to catch an ember.
The harsh smoke I can barely feel anymore,
lost in my thoughts trying to find something worth holding a gaze.
It's a miserable street, filled with miserable people.
And though I know they are cold to me,
I know they only fear the unknown.
That when I'm not looking they too are simply unaware,
unaware of the reflection I hold up to them, be they unfortunate enough
to be caught in my presence.
Alas, it is night.
Such folk are not to be seen.
The empty street, cold air, dull orange glow from street lights,
and a sky who's true beauty demands more than my perception alone can give to it.
There's something to be said, but I can't find the words.
Who would listen to the midnight man of the shadows?
Who would listen to a broken soul enveloped in fear?
Perhaps if they knew I found God?
Perhaps if they knew I stopped running from myself?
Maybe I could find the words if they knew I was happy?
I look to the stars hoping for some sort of response.
They sit their indifferent, as always.
And yet it comforts me to know.
They are the reflection of the words I can't speak.
The self in me I can't express in a world of rank, ladders, and status.
I've got to get out of here.
Explode like a star,
find my place amongst the heavens.
Let the remnants of my former self become the influence that guides the light givers to come!
But I can't find the words.
I don't know what to say.
As my carefully crafted cigarette nears the end of it's life.
I toss it in a can with the others.
A reflection of the value I have for what I have become.
I steal inside as quite as can be to return to my place.
The machine still humming.
Again... Empty solace...
Waiting for the cycle to begin again,
I can only hope some day I'll remember...
Remember what I felt like I had to say...
The noise in my head stops,
only to be replaced by the humming of the machine.
I take a break from my desperate attempts to outwit my own mortality.
Everything in order, everything in it's place.
Who is the ghost that lives here?
I open the tin and pinch the contents into the device.
Packing the tobacco and sliding it into a tube,
my mind again is seized by thoughts I'll never recall.
Slipping on my shoes and coat, I sneak out into the night.
Just to steal a few moments more.
To bask in the beauty of the night,
trying all the while to forget,
this string of nows will meet its end.
It's cold, offensively cold.
The air attacking my senses,
I fight back with a flame producing spark.
The contents of my vice begin to catch an ember.
The harsh smoke I can barely feel anymore,
lost in my thoughts trying to find something worth holding a gaze.
It's a miserable street, filled with miserable people.
And though I know they are cold to me,
I know they only fear the unknown.
That when I'm not looking they too are simply unaware,
unaware of the reflection I hold up to them, be they unfortunate enough
to be caught in my presence.
Alas, it is night.
Such folk are not to be seen.
The empty street, cold air, dull orange glow from street lights,
and a sky who's true beauty demands more than my perception alone can give to it.
There's something to be said, but I can't find the words.
Who would listen to the midnight man of the shadows?
Who would listen to a broken soul enveloped in fear?
Perhaps if they knew I found God?
Perhaps if they knew I stopped running from myself?
Maybe I could find the words if they knew I was happy?
I look to the stars hoping for some sort of response.
They sit their indifferent, as always.
And yet it comforts me to know.
They are the reflection of the words I can't speak.
The self in me I can't express in a world of rank, ladders, and status.
I've got to get out of here.
Explode like a star,
find my place amongst the heavens.
Let the remnants of my former self become the influence that guides the light givers to come!
But I can't find the words.
I don't know what to say.
As my carefully crafted cigarette nears the end of it's life.
I toss it in a can with the others.
A reflection of the value I have for what I have become.
I steal inside as quite as can be to return to my place.
The machine still humming.
Again... Empty solace...
Waiting for the cycle to begin again,
I can only hope some day I'll remember...
Remember what I felt like I had to say...
