A most serene sense of endurement is held captive here, not quite alone, but close enough to taste what life would be like. Love has filled my heart and lungs; once again veins pump loving lust and nicotine.

I search again for a place to sell my soul, marketing strategic locations to waste so many hours of my life. With the best of intentions i seek somewhere to conger financial and social resources to benefit and support my next prolonged stay in a place i vowed to never return to. The atmosphere of this place can be dreadful, but it does contain sanctuaries spaced intermediately under the splotches of overcast and shaken dreams. There is hope, but often enough in my two decades of experience, that is not enough. Hope is but a starting point. At least home has this quality.

It is in the shadows of flesh and blood, concrete and steal that these places can be found. They stir here, meticulously, despite the sullen overcast to storms on days such as these.

***

Is it so hard for you to glance out your window, so up high in that skeleton? I wonder what you occupy yourself with while your light rests so stagnantly above this night life.