When it rains it pours, and my silk porcelain skin is resistant to the drops that fall on my face.
A heavy weighted index of words that my brain shuffles through to get the right words out of the small, paper thin lips I use to write the words I speak.
When the door is closed and not another one is open for business until the sun, hits the horizon of the sky I look up at attacks my ever lasting slumber.
The morning air freezes the first thought I had, and begins morphing it into a world of beauty that is all around.
Watching and waiting, as every minute, and every moment, within the seconds of time passing creates a wave of normality that I've know since the day of my birth.
A similarity between night and day with the only difference being that I chose, place my head down for over half of my own life.
All the hours waisted away as the sun never truly set because the glare of the street lamps lit my way as I walked through the once pitch black night.
Where a land once filled with life now weeps away to designated places beyond society, where they charge is the prettiest penny for all to see.
What was once a day of virtue, a day of grace sits in my mind as a tragedy of loss and rides the ocean floor of my thoughts.
Venturing forwards in any direction whether it be north or south, I have traveled many roads not for freedom or peace but for the everlasting gratitude of being exactly where I need to be.