Haunting Me

By night I write in silence like the quiet checkered board in the corner of my room violently erupting my dimensional thoughts. It haunts the hours I am awake, through fake goggles of glory you think you see me creating fictitious measures of expectancy. I pass you on the dirty streets, behind the wheel of your material needs you steal a glance, and by chance you look the other way. A loose thread curls beneath your sleeve and you heave at the idea of imperfection, like a cold stone dropped in a pond a bond of nothing but a bottle of booze rings of empty energy ooze from you. “Reality’s” clamor of modern life echo through the corners of town nature’s volume turned down, like a clown you laugh in your big fancy shoes. History has been painted on these pavements, spilt out and absorbed by the years gone bye. Now shriveled up and dry you shy away from a connection that’s begging you to stay. But you don’t look into my eyes and you don’t see… the marvels that journey through me. A closed book hooked on gas and money, green envy of collectibles you clown, you think its funny. Why not walk without your shoes? Open you eyes and look what is around you. Feel the cracked ground beneath your feet and look at the people in the street. Some of us can see you.