four days now.

The rain has been falling for four days now.
65 degrees Fahrenheit.
It's not cold, far from warm, soaking through my shirt collar.
Walking across the campus, the trees bend.
The leaves shutter and fall.
Mimicking the drops in their path.
New melodies across the airwaves,
but they are all the same old voices.
Conor, Mike, Tim, all my old time growing up friends.
I hate to feel behind,
but I am needing the extra sleep.
A place to lay my head and let the stones in my stomach turn.
I can't remember the last time I felt alive.
It escapes me now.
That real blood pumping,
heart thumping,
go out and get the world motivation.
Even when I feel it,
it is always fleeting.
Just a watered down high compared to how it used to be.
No fights, no nights, no drunken stupid slurs.
Just books,
and papers,
processed foods,
and extra sleep.
I used to pitch and moan until the morning light.
No sleep for me those nights.
Now I can't recall the last time I was still up and about past midnight.
Unless I wake in the witching hour.
Screaming and sweating.
Thinking about what will be.
What has been.
The sins that my memory just won't let go.
The times missed, the times being missed.
The absence of everything I once knew.
I guess it does no good to complain.
To worry.
To regret.
To bemoan.
To hope.
To dream.
To strive.
To push.
Because we are all just organisms in an environment.
Living out out lifespans with no impact.
Waiting to die.
And hating each other while we can.
I want to sit in the bottom of a well.
With the top slated shut.
And see if I can still see myself.
A month.
A year.
A million burning eons.
This life cycle is getting to me again.
My lady will say to me:
"How do these things get inside your head?"
And I will reply:
"They have been there for all of time."
As a child of seven I wanted to fly.
By the time I turned ten I knew my wings would never grow.
When I hit 15 I was gonna change the world.
Start a rock band and make people feel.
17 came and went and I still wasn't anything.
By 19 I was a bum.
A dropout.
A malcontent.
A pile of shit.
At 20 I was successful.
I grit my teeth thinking about the deeds that were done.
To go from a bum to a prodigal son.
And now I look into the future and see:
Nothing but the girl beside me.
And the eventually walk to the grave.