MAX,

It was a rainy day in Portland Oregon,
And all I wanted
was to remember what it was like to be a kid again,
to build a fortress of blankets and forget everything.

My blankets used to matter.
They were enormous castles on a sunny day at the beach,

or an overcast afternoon in the foothills,
hunting rodents.
I remeber that day,
It was the first day I took a life.

My blankets are transforming,
my blanket draped castles are now over crowed cathedrals.

My blankets have turned to bricks.
Big bricks, beautiful red bricks, bricks surrounded by stained glass.

Red, Blue, Green, Yellow.

Mother mary is sitting there surrounded by my bricks,
trying to break free.
Because my blankets are now bricks,
and they are piling up. up. up.

And they are about to crash down hard,
about to crush my lungs.

Im preparing for my final exhale,
And I need to decide if im going to breathe out smoke,/
if Gods real and if she feels the same way about me,
if all this really matters, and if I want to wake up in the morning.

Maybe ill just keep from sleeping,
stand tall untill I crumble along with my bricks and my blankets.
I'll slowly turn to dust.

And I dont even know what comes after dust.

Thank you MAX,