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

8/8/14