CVII.

I walk blindly through hallways flooded by faceless strangers,
One hand steady against the wall, I feel every crack. Every break.
Stumbling slowly forward, sleepwalking through a life spent wasted.
My hand against the wall, against the wall, against the wall.
Tracing paths of imperfections, my hand, my head, I break.
Memories flowing in, times gone by, envy for my former self.
Why do we all break the same way? Why do we break?
I'm dragging my shoes across concrete, I'm outside, I'm waiting.
Cold brushes my neck and I put on my hood. A horn, a crosswalk.
My hand against the wall. Why do I always have to break? I break.