(and we bare)

My brain is a spoke off the long wheel stricken from the road of returning kings and queens (bloodstained and eloquent) whose footfalls woke some sleeping giants from their hard hearts and rehabilitations.

And we watched them rise again. stronger and far more beautiful than their counterparts. their anecdotes. their lovers' laments and forgetting what it means sometimes to know how precious it is to have a warm hand found clutching yours in the morning when strangled dreams precipitate the hell it can be to fake it for the money (because there's not all that much fame anymore worth seeking without becoming that long whore we all love to cry about in water coolers).

It's late this morning (as it always tends to be) and my heart is choked on popcorn and christmas stories.

But as i swallow my hundredth cigarette all i really want to do is reach this pale arm out and wrap it the fuck around a friend who lost someone precious today. someone i only knew in passing. in photographs and stupors on the floor next to an empty ashtray.

Huddled before a rock show. blind and smiling in the strange state that comes before giving it up for the rest we all stave off in our day to fucking day fucking attempts to make names.

When everything we've ever needed was whole and waiting at home for a kiss.

And though this isn't the best sometimes its all there is to offer a friend who only stuck around long enough to ensure one last moment of happiness.

Before being missed...