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A new me emerges from yesterday,  entertaining ideas and toying with thoughts.   Time passes  frosting over moss covered musings and I try to dig them out,  knock the  bullshit from em.   Not so different if I didn't know myself so well,  and I don't say it to boast,  only that I know me better than most,  and sometimes it's lonely.   Not that I mind,  I'm accustomed to it.   Many times I had only me to get through some thick shit,  and I manage,  somehow,  to see my way through it.   Dark days do reclaim light again.   And I do always write again in spite  of the doubt the swirls around me,  and sometimes I do even find my own shit kind of astounding.   Down,  deep down my pretty flows.