I sat with no intentions of moving.                             

I slept with no desire to gain wisdom.

How ironic life is…

It moves on

While I fail to realize

What my intentions are.

 

Somewhere along this dirty

Meandering path

I lost my mind.

I would go back to get it,

But I was afraid of facing

What I have already faced.

 

Millions of light years

Into my past

I can see

What might have been

Hope.

I can see

What should have been there

The whole time.

 

My brain seemed to have dissolved

Right into my skin

But my skin did not like the taste.

It spit the remains of my vital organ

Onto the dusty, never ending road

Of lost dreams and squalor.

 

Have I been reduced

To soil and drooping trees?

They surround me

They watch my every move.

 

And so I contemplate my earthy situation.

Every night, I sleep among the sad

Unsympathetic trees.

It is ironic, I thought,

That life moves on

While I have no intentions

Of doing the same.

 

I stared at the sky and told myself

If the stars can be still,

So can I.