Wilting...

I kill myself slowly day after day
walking through life like tomorrow is guaranteed
working and slaving for green paper greed.

My five year plan is a comedy show
where I'm the only one that laughs…
trying to find something creative
to engrave upon my epitaph.

Black walls around me and blue skies a memory
I chase feathers in the wind with my minds eye
even though I do get by I still see the lack… the void… the try…

when will it be enough for me?
Black walls still keep me warm
when the wind blows to hard too chase feathers…

my thoughts fall like rose petals…
dancing with the motion of the fall…
wilting when I pluck them from the ground
and crumbling between my fingers.
How quaint… how meager…
with no windows to look though
I do not need to see her…

lady light… giving me more blossoms
to wilt with my creating hands.
I wish to caress one petal of a black rose
and drop it into the still waters of my formless dreams
riding the ripples to the edges of my own wilting existence.