the night continued to grip me
facetious and uncertain
in the back of my mind
a glitched out voice whispered
keep going…

driving home, dark and faded
I climbed up the avenue
the night was transparent as crystal
and at 35mph all the lights
were green, ghostly
how strange, and fortunate
suddenly I knew
something  was rusty and
I couldn’t quite figure out
what it was, but
I knew when I felt it
I’d know

ahh if only life was like a word processor
deconstructed and rearranged…,
“save often” I thought
deranged , I’ve decided
I need a chorus, a verse
a mantra to swing by
writing in the evening feels uneven
less abstract but with no deadlines
I don’t hammer on the keys as hard
it’s much more delicate
and it’s beginning to become
a less destructive habit
creativity has it’s price though
what can i say
i’m a sensitive prick