Days spent buried
in the room, in my bed, in my head, it hardly matters where I hide.
It's dark even when the sun shines, especially when the sun shines.
I feel it through the autumn winds, the slow-setting breath of solitude inching its way down my back,
stripping trust from the deeper layers of my skin, stripping warmth.
I feel the onset of more sleepless nights to come, more restless wandering,
more half-smoked packs, half-finished paintings, cups of cold coffee sitting on my desk, waiting for the dusk to turn into dawn, waiting for empty hands, empty souls
to wash out the dregs.