Kid, on the Carpet, in a Rainstorm
Sitting, staring into the magnificence of a rainstorm
Scared that maybe a face will appear with the lighting
But relaxed at the continual meeting of the raindrop and the concrete.
Sleep does not come easily
Dancers swirl around memories
Memories swirl around thoughts of the future.
The storm is calmer now, making my world darker
Yet not melancholy or dragging
But in that mysterious sense of dark which entices the spirit.
Headphones blaring music into my skull
Inspiring my imagination
The curse which fuels my need to continually create.
The carpet, rough under my skin, is still somehow more comfortable
Than the coach lying only three feet behind me
And helps me to stay awake and make use of myself in this world of pointless talent.