Under This Thing

you run too fast
not clearing hurtles
punishment is a mean for yourself
from where i'm standing
it's a beautiful thing out here
the mariachi cry, from outside
puts a smile on my face
the little things are appreciated
the way the leaves travel across the concrete
the way the ash flies off the cigarette
straight onto my pants
i can't help but laugh
i no longer get angry,
that all got buried
look where it got me
out of this rubble, this desolation
nothing shall rise, different than me
off the edge of this window
i desperately
slowly
breath