There was a time when I skid
along the surface of the city,
wearing the same suit every day,
and drinking liquor to keep out the sun;
and i always had a book in my pocket,
like a key hoping to unlock the universe
and find its hidden power;
I was only 21, and wanted to believe
than college degrees and sports cars,
more than Bibles, footballs, and mowed lawns
manicured for nothing in the midnight sun;
and whatever light I had carried from my youth,
withered like a leaf in the winter of my despair;
I spoke deeply with the homeless and the insane,
hoping to glean some wisdom
or some insight into why and why and why,
but their words were like onions unraveling into nothing;
I walked so much at night my feet would bleed
in wingtips too small for me,
but I never noticed until I had worn callouses on my ankles.
I was so far in my head and my philosophies,
I couldn't even feel the simple pain of my own feet,
so where was I and who was I, I don't even know.
On one of those walks through the dark
alleys of my youth, I met my shadow
reading the same book as me,
and he told me all the answers were inside
I just needed to go deeper, read more,
think more, and ask more,
so that I wouldn't end up like everyone else,
but the more I asked questions,
as everyone I once loved,
like a dark cloud hovering above
the picnic of their lives,
and I knew that I was going to have
to choose between sunlight and shadow,
and so one night I got into a fist fight
with my shadow, punched him in the face,
and broke his glasses on the pavement.
He laughed, wiped the blood from his face,
and said, "You'll never survive without me,"
but it's been twenty years since
I beat his ass, and put down the bottle,
and I have looked behind me since;
I know he's there, of course,
but I already know what he's going to say
before he says it, so it's not even worth my time.