fog hugs the highrises,
red lights bounce off the misty rain,
high ball up,
8 ball down,
have a drink next to an old man,
piss away the pain,
I wish the leaves wouldn't change so fast,
I wish the laughter would always last,
I wish I would wake up fresh everyday,
and solve my problems in the most effective way,
it takes a awhile before the tune falls out,
but you can pull the lyrics out with the jam,
I wish I didn't hate the fact,
that when I'm with you,
I don't know who I am.
3 comments:
i rarely say a word but now ...maybe it's the dark mornings and the twilight between the clouds but you touch me...and i project that maybe somewhere we really have each other as someone...to grab...that idea that floats me still when i'm drowning..thanks ..anyway for being there
I don't think any of us are to know who we really are. The constant state of confusion can never be completely controlled or reined in. Why should it? What would poetry be like? Smugness that comes with the conceit of believing you've found yourself. Constant indigestion, I'd say. Nice poem.
I wish too much sir, but may you be blessed with a cold beer.
Your last stanza nails it all down.
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