Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Number Twelve

I’m not awake.
I’m sleeping.
I’m not alive.
I’m dying.

I remember walking down the wood paneled hallway.
I remember feeling like I was drunk.
I remember the ghosts crowding me.

We’re not present.
We’re past.
We’re not star artists.
We’re stand-ins.

I remember you walking toward me.
I remember feeling like I was happy.
I remember you laughing at my jokes.

This may be a success or it may be a failure.
Inspiration comes in drips and drabs.
Sometimes we’re hell-bent on a recovery, other times we just want to pass the test.

Charles Cicirella

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