I’ve watched a ghost be born on Howard Street. He first arrived with great things to expect, And for a time he seemed to find his feet, Cloud nine, a dream he then sought to protect. But as it goes, the more that you hold on, The more you run the risk of losing grip, And once the ropes he clung to said “be gone,” He couldn’t help but finally let his slip. On weekends when he can he disappears To find a way to heal his body back And keep his mind from brooding on his fears, But every path he finds just leads off track. Which goes to show that even with a plan, Bad luck and life can still sure break a man.

This is an act of rebellion, cemented in inaction. Build a whole persona to forgo closure, “I haven’t left yet, I haven’t, I won’t, I’ll stick to fortes even if they’re all fakes.” And I may just find that the tempo lies at a better place slowed considerably down to an understandable pace. No foreign lexicon. Counterproductive approach to save face, 'cause it’s not yours you’ll save. Flight or fight or firefight your way outta this one. The only one to help you will be you as long you keep choosing to retreat, and though it sure is an option at the moment, someday you know it won’t be. What’s it sound like to only hear yourself speak? Is the silence afterward something comforting or will this be the epiphany? At what point does pride transform to an act more cowardly and spineless? Probably the same time you run out of gas after skipping the final exit for another thousand miles, and you push the car back to get where you should’ve gone all along. Don’t limit where “home” is if you can’t find your heart. Trace the sunset back to the place you could see it clearly and let it sear your eyes. Retracting from all you aspire to be a part of will never turn out right. Even now, I’m amazed to see firsthand how people still don’t change with time. To recognize a flaw’s one thing, to defeat it’s another, and I’ve just gotten around to noticing mine. Trace the sunset back to the place you could see it clearly and let it sear your eyes. Retracting from all you aspire to be a part of will never turn out right. Even now I’m amazed to see firsthand how people don’t change regardless of time. To recognize a flaw’s one thing, to defeat it’s another, and I’m still debating whether to come to terms or come to turmoil. Either outcome’s equally plausible, but letting yourself be honest is the first step; everyone knows that.

I had a spent a month waiting, what more harm could a couple more hours be? First concern was for safety, clearly yours before mine, what kind of person would I seem like if my head was for my head only? Didn’t think that’s what “being together” relayed. And as the clouds fucked with your head, the same thing worked in reverse, my head’s clouded too as of today. And the time change helped nothing; I made a joke but the real joke’s the sun goes down when I’ve barely woken up yet and I’ve still hardly slept cause the asshole upstairs is too loud. And you too understand that. In an unwitting battle for “in worst shape” we would tie, but if one got their strength back, how would the other one know if at that point we can’t even rely on each other that much? You’ve got a substitute crutch and I’m home with a hunch that I’ve done something wrong or maybe it’s just me…but something feels off. Thank God that place will come down soon. Last thing I need is someone reading from A to Z in the same booth we discovered KR KW CH KA. Now I can’t help but wonder if those eight initials even mean anything carved in the bark. Head headed to a darker place than I thought it’d be at Christmastime, but it’s all about birth and rebirth. So fitting then you start again with someone “better fit to better you” per se than I. I’ll wish you all the best and more than that, really, I swear, but how can I remain collected at the same time? Just give me some time. Hadn’t written a single satisfactory verse since leaving Fort Worth. Rode an angelic high of independence and romance at first, but my throat swelled shut despite two ER visits which made me unsure. Should’ve realized that “mono” meant “one” as in “once again singular.” But now three worlds have met in the same place and as they collide, as always I’m the one left headed outside. But I’ll find what I’m looking for there. Soon enough all these timed references will be irrelevant. I’ll look back on this soon enough and won’t even care, but for the moment I’m amazed at the sudden resentment. Well, good for you that you could start over again with someone “better fit to better you” per se than I. I’ll wish you all the best and more than that, really, I swear, but don’t expect me to be glad at the very same time. Good thing that place will come down soon. Last thing I need is someone reading from A to Z. Fuck extra letters, I guess you just need a grade scale, and now I have to wonder if KR KW CH KA lasted and still even means anything.

Time should be offering answers to all the red flags I never wanted to question. I’m stopping at each red light early 'cause someone always shrugs them off to run the intersection. And couldn’t there be happiness after the patience? “The dusk before the dawn” and expressions that feign it, or have we well before now already gone and diverged from the same tracks? If I’m so frail though to die if the wind blows, then what can I call you or this? Love, if you’re so fickle to need new scenarios when one pauses, how could ours persist? I gave my heart and soul to commitment and while things are ambiguous and all I want to do is trust your word, now for what purpose would that even be worth it? Time should be offering answers to all the little pleasantries I lied and told myself. I’m looking for redemption in a place I never fumbled and instead I’m only finding a hollow shell. Everything here had led me astray with nostalgia, though the atmosphere farther South was so toxic. I’m looking like an idiot, the only one breathing clean air with a cosmonaut’s helmet. 'Cause if I’m so frail then to die when the wind blows, then what can I call you or this? And you’re so fickle, you crave new traditions but move on before they can exist. You gave your heart and soul to commitment and although time tarnished it and all I want to do is support you, for better or for worship? Which option’s more worth it? I’m already falling apart and I shudder when I think back to “Shiver.” Where the hell did that random show of confidence come from? And I already need it again, climbing a different hill each day on the way back from every course I think I’m gonna fail if I make even one more tiny weeny eeny meeny miny fuck-up. I’m so frail that I’ll die if the wind blows, so what can I call you or all this? Preceded by an awkward legacy, lineage of “not meant to be,” the first hope in three generations. And now I know that life’s so fickle with each new scenario, no wonder no one wants to put their feet down. To settle is to end the search to find something more memorable and better.

I remember going for donuts on mornings you’d watch me, scribbling on napkins the drive-thru car logos I’d see. Marveling at Escher and trying to not sneeze from Hoppy, complaining about the reception you got on T.V. But it’s all just a scattering of memories from when I was young. The details are sketchy for me, and I know you’ve forgot them. But if there’s one thing this fall I know for a fact I’ve been taught, it’s "when times get tough, be glad you also are." There’s a picture I’m sure we’ve all still got a copy of; me limp on your lap, both resting sound in a lump. And though I hardly sleep now, your sleep has finally come, and I couldn’t be happier to softly exhale “this is done.” Which sure, I’m well aware probably seems backwards or wrong, but face it, you haven’t exactly been you in so long. If there’s one thing this fall I know for a fact I’ve been taught, it’s "when times get tough, be glad you also are."