Seven

I walk home late at night, through dark alleys, yet remain unscathed.

I drink copious amounts of liquor, yet I’m perfectly healthy.

I count my blessings every night, and I pray to god.

Then I go to sleep, and prepare for the next day.

In my dreams, I see you.

Every day is another opportunity. Another opportunity taken, by me.

It’s been so long now.

There’s no letting up.

It’s only gonna get harder from here on in.

Mind your p’s and q’s, watch your manners.

Please and thankyou, you’re welcome, yes sir.

I’ve had an adequate sufficiency.

Be careful with your spelling too.

It’s not really enough.

Even though it’s too much.

I’m breaking, falling down.

Hold on tight.

And watch out.

Keep your eyes on the main game.

Don’t be distracted.

It’s okay.

I’m sore.

Licking my wounds.

Kiss it better. Please.

And thankyou. You’re welcome. Yes sir.

Or ma’am or whoever it is that you are.

I’m here with you.

But I’m smoking to death.

Benson and Hedges. Cigarettes.

Dying.

Because that’s the way thing are.

Everyday is a new adventure, of sorts.

Your love, is all I need.

And that’s it.

What’s it?

That. Just like that. It’s simple.

I’m gone.

This entry was written on June 12, 2007 by Alexander van Zandt. It is about/includes mentions of cycles. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.