Cheap Sunglasses

 I set out to begin writing several hours ago, early in the morning, and became sidetracked by sleep.  

 

As the coffee cools and the room warms, about the only thing under my control has always been writing.  That is the reason for it. 

 

 

This desire was there after I learned to read the funny papers.  Early on the notion to escape from reality was foremost due to conditions in the world.  If a kid can understand Dick Tracy they can also comprehend the life before them, and I had the need to escape that life.

The fear was unrelenting, terrible feelings of doom, fearful of death from such torture, reading words provided a glimpse at an escape into a world of my creation.

  The plan to create that escape often languished with daily life, but still the tiny flame flickered occasionally bellowing forth a glimpse into a universe devoid of form or color.

 

Attempting to escape into a world of words where everything was under control, there was no violence or fear.  Creating imagery however lackluster or insane became a joy lost in a world of pain.  Long before I began to walk the road alone, the gift had become tarnished. 

 

 

Two million words containing little imagination focused on the mundane reality of my brutal story, knocked from pillar to post. 

Viewing life with a pair of cheap sunglasses on my soul.  

 

After some struggle the world appears in brilliant colors with all its terrible reality yet strangely more beautiful than the dull lines and hazy shadows of the past. 

 But the song remains the same; when I die, promise to bury me face down so the world can kiss my ass...