my heart, it floats

it was a sunday night
a very cold one i remember
i was in montana
with very little i knew
and very little to do
but shivering the night through
i was walking
lord knows where
as i observed
i even went into a restaurant
to warm up for a bit, i guess
i just got chased out by smiles
and people
totally oblivious that it was fucking freezing outside
but before i left
i vomited in the john
my heart, it floats

on the 81 south, one more time

destination mill and university
on the 81 south
not for your usual
you see, i was 16
i would ask bums to buy me cigarettes
i would tell them, you can keep the change
eastside is where i could be found
no real purpose
i just liked to walk around a city
where theres no one like me
on a rainy day
smoking a cigarette
alone
with nothing
but my thoughts
and pen and pad
i embraced the puddles
while watching everyone avoid them

tread

another day of 115 degrees
this heat drains me dry
its hot as fuck out here
its so damn hot because of all these people moving
i dont understand a damn thing about it
so many people moving so fast
but do they know what for?
i dont think so.
because, i know.

i cant swim forever
nor that well
"tread.."

# 37

i took a walk through downtown
just to feel alive
i sat on a bench by a fountain
smoking a cigarette
watching and learning
just to someday forget.

"dying young leaving a good looking corpse, of course."

float

if in my sleep death takes me away
dont be surprised i wasnt put here to stay.
i cant imagine this race without a finish line.
48 - 49
its all in time
all in time.

i must admit, im a spirit at ease
a bit lonesome, but absolutely free.
in these walls, i do not find home
its everywhere else that i dont even know.
i cant tell you
how much i want to say
that i will oneday see a day
that i can just look back
and laugh.

think

i see him waiting down by central ave
hes got a big scar on his left hand
i know its probably a fix hes looking for
probably not a friend
he asked if i had some money, like most of em' do
but when i said no, he acted like he wanted to prove
he was still worthy of my time
he drew a portrait of me on a bus pass
dated the 9th when it was the 10th
i asked him, "how much for this portrait?"
he seemed amazed i was talking bout cash
i gave him 10 dollars and thanked him very much
i just prayed for his soul, who by now, seemed ruff
it made me think, "who is this man? whats his voice?"
is he a drug addict? did he have a choice?
we all do.
his scared hand was not the right

forgotten

i am the forgotten.
the thrown away.
like a piece of trash.
words.
more words.
but always a harsh reminder that words mean nothing towards me.
who would've thought.