careless collision

I’m ankle-deep in cinderblocks that I’ve sugar-coated with love and confusion to smooth out the edges. Something gets lost in the transition between bitter abrasiveness and sweet acceptability, shards of consequences lying among remnants of fingernails, pieces torn from clutching tight to my special brand of broken. I’m drinking myself blurry to forget the throbbing pulses of pain while I sit on gasoline-stained pavement and trace tragic spirals around my feet. It’s a potent mixture of nostalgia, ripe with the stench of the moment, filling my nostrils with fumes of past happiness and childhood misconceptions and a hint of the future. If I wear these shoes long enough, maybe I’ll grow into a beautiful streetlight, instead of just another concrete obstruction waiting for a careless collision.