The lost book

in poetry •  7 years ago 

A lost chapter, alone in England ending the trip that had taken me so far. Waiting tables at a country pub by Luton, smoking copious amounts of hash. I'm gonna drop this in big chunks, with very little subtext, as always, I'm open to questions.

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I often wonder what the current E, what wisdom he would try to convey to the earlier E of these pages? Does he miss this E or hate this E? Or is it a little love hate relationship like most broken artists have with former lives. Or is it like looking at a picture of an old accident long forgotten about... but when you see the pictures you can hear the noises the cars make when they hit.

I can offer him nothing, he almost had more hope then any me I've known. I think he was as aware as I of my situation, I feel even 13 years later I agree with him, his honesty, his fear and uncertainty, his loneliness and penchant for vices that aren't horrible. I still read my thoughts refreshed in many of these verses, I don't know if the feelings are relatable to anyone else, that's why I've placed them here on the shelf for perusal, that the others may rejoice that their solitude is not solitary, that their loneliness and sadness are shared experiences in this human condition.