As I bring the night to a close, I would like to try my hand once more at long-flowing verses pleasurably spoken.

Younger days of highways and a smoky haze subside encased in plastic awaiting an old fool who feels the need to reminisce, but that’s not yet me for they are not forgotten memories and I hold fast to my grasp on these artifacts. I should like to compare and contrast every aspect I conquest and alter this instinctual method of gathering. I should like to evolve and discover new formulas to solve.

This stillness is deafening and silence is crippling. My air mixes with a variety of smoke scents, thus, becoming much heavier with the weight of dust particles. The man upstairs is still walking around, but I have remained seated upon this sensible stool for quite some time now. Another CD found its way to the last song and I am forced to decide whether to put in another one or call it a night. When this happens, I will usually just flip on the radio in a pathetic attempt to find something pleasing to my spoiled ears, but sometimes it’s nice to have noise pollution.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist