first day of august

It's the first day of August. I feel solid in my shoes. Everyday I fall deeper into this groove. 

In the port I await with fellow passengers of this life as we sandwich into a canister and take flight, and in an hour or two we'll collectively descend and I'll collect myself before I wreck myself in the torching city of sin. 

Both my hands have other halves that hold them with all the strength left of a body that hangs like a corpse after being wrung out and set free. 

My exposed skeleton blows in the wind and I cry when I can't hold it all in. Weak construction constructed these levees. My vision is cloudy when I force my eye's direction for my goals have a soul but can't hold up to your standards. Seems you've got a hold on the manual.

My self seeks permission to soar into the sky, bed hop on clouds and cry into rainbow tinted raindrops falling down hard. I would rather make my own rules even if I shrink into obscurity and am cast straight out of this world. It wouldn't be the worst thing to flee constricting compounds that stifle me and frighten me. 

I feel. And I always will. I love the woman I owe my existence to. My heart is her's in reflection. She designed me to be receptive to energy, equipped with tools to sift through mounds of human debris looking for specks of light. More lights on this strip than any other street and tonight they beam brightly and I see.