Got up one morning, 1 o'clock, and went for a walk in the cold. These are my thoughts.

Spelling in context, grammar too.

Here I sit
4 in the morning on a cold metal picnic table.
Inlet park in saratoga springs, ut.
What have I done with my life to lead me to such a place.

I couldnt sleep, my sleep schedule has been so crazy the last few days.
My butt is freezing even after the 2 mile walk.

What has gone wrong in my life,
Im an intelligent man, I have a great imagination, really, how cold is this bench.

I have made so many stupid choices though.
My inability to focus in schooling.
It wasnt tough, just... boring, I learn quickly when it is interesting.

I should have brought a snack. Not eating dinner and walking 2 miles really makes you hungry.

First off, I am sorry to Kimmy.
She really is the love of my life and I am letting her down completely
I dont think she really understands my plight.But really who can blame her.

I am not the most open person in the world. I dont talk much. Not because I dont have anything to say, but because I cant find the way to put it into spoken word off the top of  my head.

Alter lifes, video games, social media, and the like, only distract from an empty life. Things were so much simpler when I was younger, yes I was a thief, a liar, and a deviant. But it only affected me.

Now that I am older, and the world so much smaller, its easy to see my affect, my disease, on those around me.

3 kids I never see.
A wife falling out of love (with me, I still adore her), (even though I let her down constantly)
Parents who support me, and I only use them when I am down or needy.

Still I want to live, I live in a place, a time where a man with intelligence, with ideas can pick himself up.

Yes bureaucracy gets in my way
A too powerful government with their claws in areas they shouldnt be.
Claims way too much power over me.

A cow moos in the distance, throwing off my rhythm. They sure are delicious though so I will let it be.

Sitting on a metal picnic bench.
4:30 in the morning leads to better insight than a lifetime of bad choices
Or do the bad choices show me what I need to see.
Who knows.

I took the pen out of my wife's scripture case.
Could the thoughts and insights be coming from its lifetime us of righteousness?
Can an inanimate object so fully influence thought.
Isaac Newton sure would think so. Basically anyone who ever made a discovery on anything not biological would too.

My butt has either succumbed to the bench or it has warmed up the bench to my body's temperature. Im guessing the former. It is quite numb.

Staring at the sad, unused beige and green jungle gym has got me thinking that it must be happier when it has smiling, laughing children on it.

A lonely patch of snow on the side of the jungle gym has no footprints. Its been a while since someone slid down that slide.

Does this jungle gym know what its missing. Its obvious from the worn steps, the chipped paint that its been used.
Its metal bars too cold to be climbed upon.
No child to befriend it in this chilly climate. I wonder if its memory is long enough to recall warmer weather, or if, like a goldfish does it remember only loneliness.

I put the pen down on the table.
Only to swiftly pick it up again.
I dont want it to freeze.
To become like the jungle gym.

This pen means so much to me
If I could it would be my livelihood
So I keep it in y pocket
Protected by my warmth
While I wait for inspiration, from the pen, the jungle gym. The mooing cows, the chirping bird, the honking goose, the quacking duck.
Anything but my cold dark heart.

The only other thing this table is good for, besides holding up my book and being a stable area for me to write is the chill it is giving to my bottle of water

My left hand freezes as I write on the left page.

The marks of ink on my pinky finger are worth the relative warmth of the book to the table

All right handed people do not know the pain and torture that besets the lefties.

Constantly looking and feeling dirty due to genetics.

As I sit and await inspiration, sounds of early morning work greets my ears.
Cars on roads making raspy music.
Some muffled song coming through insulated doors
Factories drone along to produce the bass line.

Who is going to sing the melody.
Who out there will provide the chorus
Who will be the one to complete this song

The air is still, electric lights humming
The scratches of the pen, breaks the silence
The early morning sky starts to brighten
The pen keeps on writing, keeps trying to be heard

Who is going to sing the melody
Who out there will provide the chorus
Who will be the one to complete this song

The pen in my hand writes the words
The pen in my hand makes it come to life
I wish I could give this pen a voice, to see how it would sing this song

Time to get up and move.