Pine Needle Ashes In Reruns

Pine needle ashes in reruns Each breath hurts, in my chest and in my mind Such a poor example of life, this heaving flesh, up and down, corrugated movements inside my shirt, not even a consistent rhythm You see it mirrors my heart (a broken metronome) in silent convulsions that no one sees and I become the fool, the giggles from the back row, that guy picking his nose in the car thinking he is invisible, like that cloud on the horizon attempting to sneak past the sunset without being noticed…bright florescent pink But I have always been this fool, I fall, I get up only to fall again… you would think I would have learned by now My fingers hurt as they move about the keys in interrupted design patterns finding small lettered squares (shapes) pushing up, harder than I push down, but not because of the action… it is the words, all of these words thoughts, ideas, dreams, just as a Christmas tree in a fireplace, up in smoke…though slower, more painful… pine needle ashes in reruns, always reruns **Just a poem, not a state of mind. :)