don’t really know how much
he can handle
bars bent and dripping
candle wax melting down
until it’s all but gone
smallest flicker
approaching darkness
drawn on the reflection
in the water like glass
staring through the darkness
falling down stairs
ends up back on his feet
somehow always finding
the same old seat
day after day seems like
a long drawn out afternoon
song to be sung but he forgot the tune
left with words and no music
to go along with words he speaks
can’t invent the song to express
what he is feeling inside
and even if he fails or falls again
at least he keeps getting back up
moving madness without a sound
warning or some sort of sign
of what’s to come maybe around nine
when the lights get low
as the sun goes down
below the horizon
city of champions, brock-town…
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