Your Personal Lottery

Bad news comes in ways, turning, lightning strikes and after hour showers of your thoughts falling down hard, plenty too, black and blue inside doorway places better left to miles and memories instead of dinner table faces too many, angry hands in the shape of angry men forcing you to believe again in dreaming away your worries when stone cold places made of mud and yarn fashion travel better than you ever could. Destined for crawling, broken toes and death throws with all the things unsaid and undone, this here and now nowhere near down and out - or used to. Here listening, listlessly pretending, stop signs ending in trees bleeding red and blue professionals, cops and robbers confessionals from the back seat betwixt metal and hard plastic, mesh made for protection only it does a better job of hurting, common sense unbecoming promises spent, looking back over years between "I don't know what" and " I'm lucky to have someplace to get caught" any more than "I've been living in the shadows of your personal lottery" and the misery settles in like pebbles and stones, cold, calm, forever. News comes in ways made good and other by the receiver, sometimes by the leaver, in increments of forever, tomorrow always a bite size breath just as good as now because it's twenty four hours away from having to believe in someone pushing you to falling down. Knowing is what tells you that no one is stopping them from sending me off into the never-never land of no return.