she must feel as a awkward (for her, i'd stand up to a giant)

when he arrived to the point of no return
he wondered out loud to no one
in particular; just the breezy southern
air, 'what has come of me, where has it gone?'

before he even had a chance to think
he was aware of time beginning to sink.
all around him memories bounced
in his mind, like playing ping pong.

by the sea he sat and by the sea he wrote
lovely songs that no one would hear, sonnets
that'd never see the light of day-
somewhere along his journey he lost his way.

he told a woman once that he didn't
much care for politics or the fate
of mankind; it's not much to fathom
he was alone most of the time.

never been one to keep a girl
longer than a fraction of a year.
these pieces of completion
did overwhelm him sometimes.

yet that never seemed to bother
him, not in the slightest; however
love wasn't absent completely.
no, in drugs he found a smile.

a decade past by without a sense of wonder.
no more days spent hanging about, no more
lingering about the situations he
had or hadn't ever put forth effort into.

he could play the loveliest songs on a piano
and by heart he could recite every psalm
he heard as a child on an old fashion radio.
just satisfaction in something he desires.

nothing to plan, nothing to chance
he couldn't stand being one place
so the country side was his bed side
as he drank himself into slumber.

smiling at the children laughing as
they past on by without so much as
a glance at him; not even did the
women pushing babies see his tears.

this dire sense of well being should have
consumed him into a tidal wave of
destruction; but he always had a knack
of landing on his feet, to not look back.

yet each September he felt this pain
in his stomach; nothing did he find
calmed his nerves during this month.
it's this season when he felt most numb.