#midnightletters

It’s the chance between wanting and needing The cylinder to fill the spaces

It is a form of my potential energy, a stopper of my kinetic

The air hot with gasps for its cold, stale breath

I’ve never been so hungry for the taste of dried leaves glued to strips of paper - the color of traffic cones lining city streets

~

It is the source of all giving It is my savior from rain It is my crucifixion my resurrection The cure for all pain

The anecdote to this sickness they call living

It’s fire in the ninth circle, the only star in the first, It’s my last and the first of many more It is my own breath that he inhales; when he speaks

“Hey brother, you want a

light?”