today's one of those days. the green that is accented on a rainy day always seems to subside in its dull surroundings. i curl up on my porch drawing my legs close to my body in fickle positions to bring warmth but my nose always, with out doubt, will turn a shade of pink (as if it already doesnt stick out). i turn the final pages of my long winded book with a menthol smoked down to the filter, lit by a match and put out by the wind as it falls into a small puddle on the window sill.
"thats how children deal with terror- they fall asleep"
maybe thats all i am- a child running from the thoughts and fears of being orphaned. physical sleep is the last thing im worried about. but spiritual sleep seems to come too easy. i sit comfortable leaning now, one leg crossing, bench subtle(y) creeking. i wipe my nose with a smokey hand and ponder 'a reminder of a dream that is wilting even as it was budding'. where the hell do i go with my thoughts that lie trapped in this steeping tea bag. ive dropped the cup far too many times and done tragic mischeif between the door and the tree. my lack of words has caused the dust from his feet to blow far from my eyes. but "if America taught me anything, it's that quitting is right up there with pissing in the girlscouts lemonade jar"