Para ninguno estoy
<< 12:53 a.m. - Monday, Nov. 10, 2008 >>
I could be the egg,
or I might be the bud,
but honestly I am just really lost.
How could it be
that you�ve sucked all the blood from my gushy heart?
And how is it that I�m still standing here,
slack and gray?
Even when blinded,
my gaze remains fixed on the horizon.

The night I rode the bus home with all the power out on Hawthorne,
I began to realize,
that all the familiar markers had been made by light -
small buzzing neon signs in every shop window.
With the electricity shut down and cold,
the street became another.
One I did not know.

Presently I find myself under that same light,
or lack of it.
Without you as a guide, without you there,
my life here has unveiled itself
in endless unknown roads.

And all I can do it keep walking
in this environment of indiscernible shapes and sounds.
Palms outstretched, eyes open wide,
Taking small steps away from this,
crushing other small things with my apologetic feet.

I regret that
I have nothing to offer you,
but my (shitty) words.