A napkin falls to the floor
as easily as a feather floats in the wind.
My mails are cracking and
my feet are killing me oh so very slowly.
People stand in line at the stand,
people I don’t know, people that stare
and make him stick out like a sore thumb.
A cold wind crawls up my spine.
The fog in my mind gets heavier and denser.
I can hardly breathe anymore.
I look out to the horizon,
I stare at it as if the answer was there,
as if the clouds they are going to write
in the sky which way I should go.
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