Gardenias

my voice says different things all the time. i frown allot more lately, always at bay from the jabs.
the music between the machinery always creeps some randomness into my head, like of nights grinding along the California edge, just to stare out into a starless sky.

the rain hardly ever showers here as of late and the night seem longer when its hot. it keeps me up longer than i'd like, and the drink doesn't help any more. everything keeps getting jammed together, when nothing is going on besides trying to sleep again.

afternoons are halfway between freedom and halfway to adulthood. and the road always makes this more a deal, when the streets are overflowing with the working, and the sidewalks are full of wandering children only a few steps away from their mothers.

most of everything i witness just is meaningless, because it always seems the same, but when things blur more so than other times the scent of gardenias, hits me and reminds me of when life was with color.