Madness, my eyes staring at the walls. I’d imagined I would be in Rome by now. Perusing around the streets with my money, holding my head at the table, holding my breath behind the women. 

Basking in all the red from a beer sign.

The pinching sensation behind your eyes at five’s rising,

destined to do the melancholy. Grunt at lousy drivers, kick around a stone in a five story parking lot

Tied the tie. Ironed the trousers. Did all of that last night and God bless, it doesn’t feel like heaven.

I am mad at the instructor. Teaching such a stupid thing. Tying cherry stems around loops in your mouth as I stare at motivational posters. 

She doesn’t know how mad I am at the walls, and everything else. 

She doesn’t know how many cups of coffee I haven’t had this morning, 

How many divorces I've been through.

These corny people. Walking single-file down the alleys. Winning some big battle against anguish and despair,

They smile and rejoice at the grass growing. 

Shame it’s always been this way. 

Shame it always will be.

So at the end of the day – When she won’t call back, when I am fresh out of money

and the tire’s air ran low, or the branch that crushed my dog, and the ticket for going too fast, 

Bog my sorry ass down.

I look solemnly at some stop sign behind my car. Switching its reflection from yellow to red, as my turn signal gives it life in the dark wooded area it sits in, recalling some great metaphor, relating closely to how it’ll be when the lights turn out. How when it all is blackened, reminders of real world start to bleed in. Surrounding great darkness and some small stick, with aptitude to change in light, will be swallowed once again when the light goes away. 

I saw it, mourning my life, my choices, my failure.