There was a time when I glimpsed the future
The possibilities it held sparked something in me
I was no longer consumed by the tedium that had been relentless in recent days
I could taste new beginnings
I became blind to the gray scale world I'd been living in

Ah that lovely haze
Those were the times when I climbed on rooftops
When I'd walk on the train tracks over the river smoking menthols, drunk on life and ***** sprites

Since then the fog has lifted and the world has returned to its dull state
I don't have any desire to climb on rooftops
I don't see what the point would be
And those train tracks that stretch over the river
Can't even reignite that something in me
And it seems I'm stuck on the 27s again

She is in prison

it is my fault

Society tells her it is
That she, a woman, shouldn't have worn such
A short dress
Shouldn't have been "asking for it"
With her wandering eyes
And coy smile

what is wrong with me

She has come to resent the image she sees reflected back to her each day
It is unrecognizable
foreign
And she finds the sight of it
makes her physically ill

help me

The volumes she speaks through her
pleading eyes
go unnoticed
She is silenced by oppression
her words that push the crease
of her lips
elbowing, shoving, clawing their way out
are swallowed by her fear

Everywhere I turn I encounter folks who seem to have it figured out
(Whatever "it" exactly is)
They appear to know who they are
Oh how lovely that must feel
For I am just a wanderer
I am excellent at nothing but acceptable at most
And that is a confusing state to be in
For how, then, do you find something to be passionate about?
Those who seem so comfortable
Who seem to have it figured out
I envy them, and oh how I long, how I strive to be them
But the more desperately I clutch at the emptiness around me
The further I get from discovering my passion
And the further I sink into loneliness

Every day my cat paws at the back door, yowling to be let out
Every day like clockwork he does this
And every day we let him out

I always find him crouching where the porch meets the grass
Staring out into the distance
He'll do this for hours
Sit at the porch's edge until his wanderlust is quelled
I think he wants to run
I think he wants to leave this place that is all too familiar,
All too comfortable for his wandering heart
I know how he feels
Yearning to run
But not wanting to ***** his paws