“A Life Hanging on to the Traces”
Another night gone, wasted, smoked away;
The cloud of white engulfs the remains of whatever sanity existed,
At least I hope so!
But I know there are still traces of it left,
A life hanging on to the traces,
Almost insignificant,
Almost;
But don’t fret,
For there will be another night,
And then another one,
Nights that will be gone, wasted, smoked away,
Until the cloud of white engulfs
The almost insignificant trace of sanity still left,
And then I’ll finally be free,
Lost,
Or dead,
Whatever comes first…
But until then,
I hang on to the traces
The kind of writing that shows up uninvited, barefoot, at 3 a.m.
