Scribbles

Assumptions spill from
my head like blocks
build rainbow prisons
at my feet,

I step over and out of them
listen to the crickets
humming,

they're invisible, intangible
but watching me,

I should have arrived earlier
tho I was lost, I knew which
ways to go,

instinctively.

Yet, I ignore all but glowing lights
prepubescent bulbs, the television
event horizon,

call man off his destiny now,
or at least free me from mine,

I am adverse to pain,

social situations,

typing, talking, minding my own--

Even so, you've misplaced the gloves,
frost bitten hands clawing for warmth,
safety,

I wonder how long until the nails
split off like expectations, so
never, so never relieved,
weighted down,

you ought to go, you
ought to go,

ignore the storm, forget
the storm,

they're only words,

and every word in every novel
is a lie.