After a Long Day: On the Streets of Bloomington

12/12/06

Walking, walking, walking:

The streets of Bloomington.

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

Coffee and pain,

Pain and coffee—

Each etches designs

In the soft confinement of my mind.

A hazy existence—

Loving everything,

No love in return.

Falling asleep in mine own arms

On this warm December night,

Loving myself as no one else has ever done,

Caring for my own slightness as no one else ever could.

A hazy existence—

Music lulling in my ears,

Sleep, sleep, sleep.

Feeling the dark stares of

Glaring, seering brightness,

Rushing toward me,

Whispering to me of death and broken ribcage, for all the world to see.

Suicide whispers to me

Of loneliness and a romantic ending…

Life whispers to me

Of spring and intelligent people…

My minds whispers of both suicide and life,

Conflicts in mine own conflicting little life.

But I walk on:

The streets of Bloomington.

Sneakers tied in the sky overhead,

Offering a way out—

A way out of thinking,

A way out of feeling,

A way out of the world.

But I walk on:

The streets of Bloomington.

Passer-bys wave hullo,

Met by my ignoring form.

Nothing shall break these thoughts.

Phone rings,

Turn it off.

Nothing shall break these thoughts.

Hazy existence:

The streets of Bloomington.

I’m here/I’m not here…

Wandering between my world and theirs.

Some think me mad,

Some think me beautiful,

Some think me sane,

Some think me hideous.

I am none and I am all.

I am everything that came before,

And everything yet to come.

Living a half-life in half-light:

The streets of Bloomington.

Every step, every stop, every breath—

Each an opportunity

To live, to die,

To hate, to love,

To sleep, to wake.

To throw yourself into what you have,

Or throw yourself into oncoming traffic.

To inhale life’s nectar,

Or inhale your last breath.

Your choice, your life, your body:

The streets of Bloomington.