was written, once, in a poem
by someone who was a stranger to me,
on a bed he lies, with this soul in his hand but his
still feels so empty,
what is it that youve taken?
what is there that you have left?
everything, and nothing at all.
onto the street with you on my mind,
before i caught myself, suspended a chute in my own mind,
you arent coming back.
i climbed the stairs again and curled into myself , and
i spoke to my God, and i asked Him,
was what youve taken ever really there,
or was it only my idea of us, in my mind, making peace?
spoon is what ive got,
and a demon to wrestle with in the bowels of my soul.
i can put my shit on hold,
and spend some more nights looking at the
star painted ceiling in my mind.
my happiness comes not from fact that it cannot happen again,
but from the knowledge that it was never meant to be.
And talking and walking
And eating and sadness
Are found on the sidewalks of the city.
crowded with the
Lonely, and the
The sidewalks of the city.
is playing far away
The sun is making the concrete shine
The homeless man on the corner is smiling
Tar and trash and rusty cars will sparkle
in the beauty of every day.
People beg and people sing
Trash is kicked from the edge of the building
To the edge of the street
The sun is shining through slits of concrete and aluminum
People will cry
People will run
People will hate
Theyre sounds of the city
In the beauty of every day.
I am a
I am a story maker
And I dont feel theres much love anymore
People are singing and crying to the blues
Run and drive to anywhere youll lose
Story makers make any story you choose
Dizzy dancing and riding the sky
A stranger thing never changed my mind
And seasons will run and turn into beauty
And stories will rot and turn into nothing
What am I to do?
is my world the way it is?
When will I learn to accept the things that are?
I dont want to have to accept
Id rather have joy
And not have to find it
I dont want to learn
I want to take
I dont want to search
I dont want to run
I want to stay
by Alex Meyers
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