Waiting

I eat the night alive from
this back seat,
surrounded by
someone elses sorrow
and my own denials.

The street lights illuminate
the question mark
riding shotgun.
There's never a straight
or decisive answer -
nothing's ever easy;
but I find our concern to be
decidedly lacking.

I've become
one big nervous tick,
wanting to get up and run
and never look back.

I'm this blank slate
that cannot be marred.
Challengers are welcome
but are all but doomed to failure.

I'm standing here though,
waiting for
the thunderstorm to roll in;
hoping for
the wind to pick me up
and completely blow me away.

Brew City Moonlight

we like to
cruise through
drive through
roll through the
silent, shut down
sound asleep city
windows down
cigarettes alight
beats and screams
vibrating through the seats.

waiting for
four a.m.
there's plenty to
talk about
when you've had
too much to
drink
or
too much
fresh almost-spring
air filling your lungs
absorbing right next
to the constant stream
of nicotine
past your lips
through your mouth
down your lungs
exhale out

milwaukee's rarely
beautiful
if ever
we're not the
classiest of cities
but the
green-signed streets
and broken homes
over grown and
some kept lawns
corner dice games
drug exchange handshakes
brown bag liquor
and city buses
they run in my veins

and at night
milwaukee, she shines
in the haze of
orange and yellow
street lamps
corner store signs and
the flicker of
late night tv through
curtains or old bed sheets

we visit
super video
two
it's the only one
open this late, see
we'll wander the aisles
and wish we had money
we'll move along
to a diner on kk
a mountain of french fries
slightly more than a buck fifty.

and now it's time
and we retrieve
what we've all been waiting for
and now we've got her
full with smiles, hugs,
cloves, shoes and stories

and still we
just can't sleep.

A Fairly Unorganized Collection of Thoughts on Dissatisfaction.

Fine weather makes me a bit squirrelly, and really has yet only to enhance my feeling of wanting to get out and away. It has magnified my dissatisfaction to a seemingly unreasonable amount.

"Do you always look this dissatisfied?"
Sure, the questioner was under the influence of drink and sleep deprivation, and yet it was hit perfectly.
I personally hope that I do not, purely because I do not want to give people the impression that I don't enjoy the time spent with them; yet at the same time I can't see why I wouldn't look "this dissatisfied" all the time.
I am "this dissatisfied" all the time.

But what's to be done? What can really be changed? I've tried and I've thought about it and the only solution that I can see is dropping everything and starting over again somewhere new. Somewhere where minimal people know me or my name.
I don't want these papers: they mean nothing.
I don't want this life: it means nothing.
I am doing absolutely nothing worthwhile.
I do not care. And nobody else cares.

This is not a cry for help, nor a cry for somebody to care.
This is written in hopes that once the thoughts are no longer merely internal, I may find solutions and direction. It maybe and perhaps should be ignored and left unread by everyone save myself.

I know what I want, I just don't know how to get it. And when I do have an idea of how to get it, there's always someone else standing in the way.
(destroy to create, destroy to create)