yelling outside on a hot day

She is the child of 1970's love
In a rage of disco and hot summer nights
conceived at the pinnacle bounce of springs within a small mattress in some long forgotten room
she grew up surrounded by family
she grew to an adult falling in love too much
two kids and no love later
she is at my front window
arguing with a recovering crackhead at the rehabilitation center next door
whether the weather is fair or violent
they circle the small tables in the front shaded by large umbrellas
they smoke their cigarettes and talk in circles
tied together by the ropes of addiction
they circle the back in wheelchairs
smoking between dumpsters
and sometimes at my back gate
someone wants to sell me viagra but I decline
I don't need it yet
when it's quiet I listen
between sirens, fights, and hunger for junk
there isn't much left of any of them
there isn't much left of me
It might not just be a rehab either
some have just lost all they have
minds included
I open the gate and close it
open the doors and go in
but they remain, on the street, in the alley
at least they can share their pain

Hearts are broken all the time

As I sit here I think that it's quite possible I'll be alone forever
No one can relate to me
no on can understand
what truths the darkness holds
what screaming fear does not give faith to
I think the alcohol on my breath stinks
this dorm room is shit
the people on the street are worthless
and I am alone
Full of pity for myself
Reviewing all of my life's insignificance and pain
one and the same
My bloodshot eyes stess to squint
tears form and I'm whole again
a being, living, dying, real life god fearing
I want away
I want far away
life is not worth anything anythinganything
I want to throw this macbook out the window
I want to ball tears
I wan't to taste the salt of loss and never had
the salt of work is not worth living for
I expire to myself
I extinguish all on my own
I call to the dark in mumbled recitations
of all the loss I have had dealt and dealt with myself
I want to push the daisies
I want to hold the dirt like a blanket
I want to not have to think or feel about this place, my situations, or my motives ever, ever, again.