The October rain is cold,

Almost colder than the snow.

It drips away my heat and soaks me in emptiness.

The winter will come, a shotgun blast to our summer sensitivity.

Every movement automatic,

The roll of my eyes from the beaming sun

The way I circle my foot to crack my toes and ankles

And the way I thrust my back upward to try and stretch it to reduce the pain.

The ‘stuck’ I feel plagues at the edges if my life,

It eats and flaws at them,

And I decide to keep taking a step at a time.

Until I don’t.

Is that our only free choice?

No.

Nobody makes you pick up the pen,

Nobody makes you take the first step of your run

And nobody makes you learn that sweet riff.

You are the only will that drives you.

Nothing else makes you except that will.