Night

A cacophony of shadows and all I feel is fear.

A cavern opens in the depths of my chest and you're no longer there. I have to face my deepest self alone, as always. There are no ribbons, no bows, no party hats. Just strippers and drunk clarinet players and the tonka, tonka, tonka sound of the streetcar rolling the track and the smell of electricity and the hiss crack burn of broken hearts everywhere. After a good rain, the city is reflective. It shimmers like a mirage. Magnolia still lingers lightly about the decaying drunks dragging prostitutes with names like Bella and Trixie and Heather to those five hundred dollar a night rooms. I wander out into it, still sober, still penniless, still filled with the Rothko exhibit and the trumpet player's lament and the smell of beer spray that tourist sprayed in joy and surprise at hearing that guy blow that horn so perfectly against your cloak of self pity. You it wear like an elegant gown. Ah, screw it. Now I'm pointing my finger. I'll open my hand and let my shaky ring finger wiggle under the new let mist. It breeds with the odor of street gravy, leftovers, and junkies fixing and looking for fixes. Nobody knows why they're broken except the Buddhists. Just get me closer to my suffering, closer to my hurt. I want to make intimate relationships with my resentments, my character flaws. I've befriend my sorrow like rocks in a rushing stream befriend fish shit. Unmoved by anything but acceptance. I am flawed and flawed deeply. Used and used cheaply. So yeah, I'm afraid. Terrified of going it alone again.