trainsmoking
I opened up my bukowski book- drowning in fire, burning in water.
He talks about life- about feeling it- the being alive.
About being down, being alone. About being in love- being left by women.
And I look around.
I wonder- How old am I getting.
I look young- and I feel so old.
I met a man who was 71 years old, today.
He said he’d been married 5 times.
I wanted to ask him- where did he find the emotional strength to keep going.
How do you do it, again and again.
Maybe I’m just burnt out
But I also don’t want to think of myself as someone who *could* be married five times.
I think of myself as a one timer.
And my time has run out.
I’m getting old.
I can hear the train outside.
Making that slow screeching noise.
When it finally goes by, it’s all so quiet.
I can hear the smoke exit my lips.
