A Day In The Life Of The Rest Of My Life

Here it lies

a portrait of the artist

with endless cups of some variety of vodka watermelon drink

in a basement apartment with ants crawling up and down

the walls

even so bold as to be found in his pajamas

no one cares, and no one needs to

looking young for his age

but showing his hand behind the eyes

yellowed and deadened

cynical from the mouth always

older than ever

these last ten years

always craving all of the time

nothing else to do

but paint words pretty

nothing else to do but smoke cigarettes and look

out at the stoic sky for answers to questions

he's too afraid or too dumb to ask

like it always is here, it comes to this:

a woman.

but this one is exceptional

and he is in deep

and exposed

wide open, probably too soon with the notions of "love" and "truth"

as he sees them

so

another expensive cigarette later

one more half tethered together moment

of clarity

one TINY bit more of drink and it will

all come together for him

like he hopes that it will

every night 

close enough to the
sun as not to burn surely but

with the knowledge that this time will be final and figured out

and things will go as things should 

like they always should have gone,
well
full of potential
and promise forever

Stumbling, struggling down the 5 red steps

downward into his home

underground
cut off again

he drags his feet to the refrigerator 

pours one more

the ice cubes swirl around in the glass

staring up at him as he does the blue black evening every night

just as unfeeling

and it keeps repeating