No Deserving Title

I'm sitting here
raking over the charred
remains of what used to be
what could be
and who I am.

The choices in my life,
the sparks that drift
into clouded midnight skies,
the consequences,
the smoke that chokes
on a windless eve.

My fire has burned
brightly and strong
for so long into the night,
I don't know what time
it actually is,
my vision and the stars
sit behind a veil of
troubled dreams.

Head on hands
life on a rope
sanity on a ledge
love hiding under a condition

This road just flew up to meet my feet
and suddenly it's like a treadmill
steadily increasing in speed
until I can't run any faster,
my endurance is waining,
my desire to finish is bleeding,
my love hangs on a hello.

All I have to do is pick up the phone.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved