it looks like rain
or maybe i am looking
through tears again
freshly shaven
with nowhere to go
nothing to be
just a sad sack sitting
silently staring
at this cumulus effect

i only exist
about five days
out of the month
then i am
mothballed and
hang myself
from a plastic hanger
that feels
faintly familial
in the harshness
of familiarity

killing time
writing for myself
in the darkness
awaiting my time
of value once more
unsure if the storms
are outside or
just depression
thundering about
in my angular angst
my consciousness
a self delusional
subdermal sense of
singular detachment

a sudden fury in
a flurry of windswept
bleached of hue
a case of albinism
in retrograde
a mostly articulate
plastic skeleton
reaching out for
an honest chance at
fucking things up
on my own terms

there is a feel of
unfettered cleanliness
with a freshly shorn scalp
seated smoothly in a
soft woolen cap
sobbing as the swollen
steel colored skies
hang heavy with
impending showers
a misleading sense of
serenity inside this
summation of sorrows

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