I will become the chilly wind on a Wednesday afternoon in winter. I will become the Wednesday Afternoon. Watch the leaves fall and then crumble into nothingness on the cracked pavement. There once was a puddle left after a late spring rain and oil swam in it like minnows. The oil shined it's beautiful sheen like a peacock's feathers. Can I weather this storm inside me? I paid attention in school. I paid attention to what my parents told me. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue like diamonds. Does anyone have any spare diamonds? In elementary school a classmate gave me a piece of glass that was trimmed into the shape of a diamond and he said he was from the future where diamonds were everywhere, I wonder if he was telling the truth. It's cold at the bus stop and my skin gets bumps as big as mountains and the chills shake me like electric current. What is virtue? What is value? Is value always in relation to something else? Living in the kingdom of artificial scarcity, I wonder a few things. I wonder what my life would be like if I had parents who nurtured me. I wonder what my life would be like if I had a safety net to fall back on. These are just a few things I ponder as I scratch lines on the cave wall. The bon fire casts light that licks the wall like shadow tongues. I wonder what is behind a shadow. Does a shadow have a shadow? I want to be friends with a black hole. I want to be friends with a star. I wonder what would happen if a light was cast and it lit up every little crevice of my psyche and I could see what the darkness wraps up in it's void blanket. I shake out the darkness like I lost an item in that blanket. I'm looking for a piece of jewelry or maybe the "diamond," I mentioned earlier. Virtuous. Nauseous. Cautious. Trust issues, trust fall, trust spring, trust summer, trust the wind on a Wednesday afternoon in winter. When the embers burned to nothing, I went back inside with my eyes dry and my clothes smelling of smoke. The wind changes directions and the smoke proliferates my sinuses. I live to tell the tale, I live by chance and heads or tails. Dead end job, dead end life, dead end prospects and hobbies. Reading as a child, I don't feel real, I live through the pages as a character of my own design. Is it all by design? I hope not otherwise God is disturbed in ways I don't want to think about. I hope there is a higher power out there that will embrace me one day. My domain gets very lonely despite having a community to fall back on. Punching in the numbers, punching in the clock. Closed eyes dirty sheets and dirty socks on the mattress. Strike a match, 3 strikes and you're out, out and about and drowning in a crowd. don't think, don't judge, don't blink, don't smudge the ink or the paint or the glass. Don't drink. Don't pass out. Close that door like Chief Keef said. The door with the demon pouncing through it, the door without a lock. The door that sparked an argument that led me to be displaced. The door in my mind I'd rather not acknowledge or ever open. I'd never open it even a hair. The hare that we follow down the way and through the looking glass and through today and tomorrow and yesterday. I wish I wasn't Alice, noone takes Alice seriously. Take it with a grain of salt, take it with a shard of glass, drink it with a chaser, bottom out the glass. There is blue salt on the sidewalk and the concrete is chipping away similar to a river bank eroding from flooding. Lately I can't think of what to write. I am someone with many things to say but I'm becoming a person who listens more than anything. I'm attempting to hear the rhythm I often overlook in my flow states. I want to hear the flow state of everything else. I take a deep breath. I almost forgot to take my medicine I will do that now. I've spent so much time thinking of what I'll do and forgot what I was doing. Exit through it, the door I left open. When you know that after certain things there will be noone to hold you afterward, no warm embrace for you in the after life or in the current life. Forever tainted by the decisions made before you were even conceived as a thought or a concept or idea. It pains me to know what I know. It pains me to be who I am. I wake up and my skin crawls with bugs and the window is open. I wish the air wouldn't constrict me, I wish my honesty wouldn't convict me, nothing can convince me that anything is okay. Nothing can convince me any of this is easy and I accept that fact to the best of my ability and I take another deep breath. I keep fighting.