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David Knape

of

St. Louis, MO, US

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Man...

by

David Knape

I sit here with my fingers tangled in my unwashed hair
wishing for some kind of escape
escape to reality
the reality we wish we all knew
you know
that place where the musicís on continuous play, the CD's are all half-price, the food looks as good as the women taste, the brown sugar cubes are on the house, and there's a poet in the back reading lines of sorrow and despair that make you feel better knowing you're not him
maybe her
maybe not
maybe later
afterwards
when we all look back on today
what was yesterday
but only tomorrow
next month when the winds blow colder through the cracked windows that serve as the only barrier one has to the harshness of this life
living like there's no tomorrow gets you nowhere
anywhere you can go to get away
away from this thing
this pestilence that hangs over everything we encounter like a dark fog
a crying child that interupts the christmas service
a wad of gum that sticks to the bottom of a new pair of shoes
picking up a constant reminder of things gone wrong
stick
stick
stick
every step reminds you of one wrong step
every minute leads you deeper into what was never to be
never to become
of this life
of you
living a dream that never ends yet never comes true
you wish for greater things
things to live by
to cherish
to hold in your arms when nothing else is left
nothing else is right
left
right
left
right
the sounds of footsteps linger in a forgotten soul
the man in the back with the accoustic guitar that drank more beers than he can pay for with the measly change collected in the beat-up old instrument case in front of him
what else can he do
what else can anyone do
it doesn't matter anymore
maybe we're better off not knowing what the future holds
maybe I just won't worry about it.