Edge of the bed
Head in the hands
Cracks in the floor start to make sense
“Why?” ain’t the question
“How?” don’t work neither
It was always more of a statement
“Wasted”
Like a dollar on a lotto ticket
Play at your own risk
Or like a thought never spoken
Potential can fade, you know
Bewildered and bruised
But certain of the cause
And prepared for the scars
So, I guess I’ll set my feet down on this here floor
These cracks will give way soon enough
I guess I’ll look on up
But not at this ceiling here, no
I’m looking at the sky
And all these pulsating stars
One of them will soar across my eyes
And I haven’t given up on wishing yet…
gutterphenomenon 