Alone on the floor pillow
Listening to music
And trying to get high
Which is the only way
I know to
Keep me from crying
The door to the porch
Is open in hopes to ventilate
Cigarette smoke
That no longer exists
And the attempt of a
Determined soul to finish
Every bit of white
Thinking of
What to think about
Yes, my life does not
Consist of much
Since all reasons
Have been stripped away
Crippled and low
Staring at the blank walls
Which box in a single
Hand-painted table
A project left unfinished
Blink twice
Though there's nothing
In my eyes
My blank mind
Thinks of nothing
I have no thoughts
Only sight
Of the emptiness around me
Lives are going on
As I watch and hear them buzz
No time to stop
And have nothing to think about
No time to see
It is all meaningless
No time to know
That just being here may be enough.
Yes. my life does not
Consist of much
But I like it that way
At least for today.