Day 9

last words follow last memories
tomorrow is only the smell of leaves fading into the ground
August hasn't decided when September comes
and my fingers twist around the binding of a new book
and new philosophy

I crave the words that flow from my pen
like the tepid breeze at my back
collar popped and stiff gait
there is no such thing as a life without regrets

the finger prints of your own solemn thoughts wear me like lace to a bride

it is today that I am alive
not to just stand by and watch as others live my
life
or place me comfortably in a frame upon their wall.

isn't it a shame that she
turned out to
be what she turned out to be...
maybe barbie is what misguided my fantasies

the dryer hums in the back ground and I am lost in worlds that were once
captivating and familiar
now I am an alien to my own face
and hands
as cigarettes burn to my finger tips and sting my lungs.