6.21.06

First day of summer and
the clouds are nothing but brushstrokes across the sky.
There's only a month and some change left
until the mass exodus that I live in such fear of.

What will there be left to stay for?
Who should I warn?

Times are strange these days:
a father languishing
mountains and deserts away,
a best friend so set on happiness that
your secrets are always better left unsaid,
all of your childhood lessons proven
useless against the daily beatings
that come with being alive,
yourself broke
every two weeks, thanks to
the diligent efforts to escape all realistic thought.

Who knew you'd end up this way?

Poor thing, stumbling in
soaked to the bone after the weathering of
all these storms.
We've got to learn how to
let ourselves in;
dying on your own doorstep wouldn't do justice to the fight.