The Blood Filled Balloon

Apologetically clothed.
Materials that lustfully molest.
Shoes never did,
sound the way,
you wanted them to.

Talking to the pavement.
Shadows forming words.
Words you never really see.
Avoiding the glares.
Of the angry streetlamps.

Sympathetic musical notes.
Thumping through your faint heartbeat.
Gracious in dealing.
with your frequent mood swings,
and the painful jabs from destiny.

Approaching the golden archway.
Insomnia awaits beside your pillow.
The days are insignificant.

The sunrise greets you.
You refuse to acknowledge,
the absence of the dark,
as you reach,
for your tear soaked blindfold.