Do you know any answers? Can you see how the world works when the night falls in pitiful shades of gray, dampening the light from a weak sun filtered through clouds of melting mountains? Is it good to say I ache from the machinations of a crowd that pushes me in all directions with angry power? Once I stood naked before the mirror and saw a man not yet old and no longer young but I didn’t see me, I couldn’t see me. Why can people only glimpse that part of us that boils and simmers with some parts rage some parts love? Am I going mad when I remember you from so long ago as though it was only this morning? You were so fresh and new and I wanted you more than the air I breath. Is it brash to lay down my feelings like so many open sores to be eaten away by time? I dream in colours so vivid they hurt my eyes and pulses of pain seep deep, laying trenches in my conscious waking life, can I survive or sink into a spiral of hurt?