Poem: One Brown Leaf

Going insane again.
Staring at the ceiling,
listening to NPR,
smoking cigarrettes.
Wondering what it's like
to be a person
with things to do.
Rain and cold outside.
People I knew
blowing through my memory.
Wondering who I was
who I am
who I'm going to be.
No initiative.
No reason to move
from my bed.
No profit in the cold.

Having once had dreams,
I look to the wet sky.
Will I ever have them again?
Nothing to do but wait.
Every e-mail
takes too much energy.
Every time I remember the past
I am filled with sadness.
Avoiding those things which remind me.
Running day to day,
moment to moment,
further away from:
The past when I was whole.
People and places.
I barely remember now.
Just a poking at my heart,
a wetness to my eyes,
and a child-like wonder,
that once
I had a life like that.

Now a ghost.
Brown, dead, leaf
blowing in the wind.
No seed,
to create a tree with.
No berry,
to feed a bird.
Just one brown leaf,
curling and tossing,
in the storm.