I built the refuge of the damned only to become a fugitive myself. Hiding in the shadow of the illusion of the world, falling through the gaps between the sidewalk blocks. The only place that I was living in was fear. Troubled with the unfinished, the unstarted. I diminished my belongings to fit into a large orange sack that slung across my broken back. I used to own an ’81 Cadillac and a gun. Even rented out my room to a criminal hiding from the law. Major flaw, to place trust in a thief. Now I just sit back and let the cage take care of it. At my age I shouldn’t have to be troubled with the absence of home. No place seems suitable. Places without kitchens, sleeping chambers without walls, housemates without feelings. My lost kitten doesn’t come when I call. Constantly bothered by nightmares and the sadness of loneliness. Sleep doesn’t come in abundance when guilt plagues your existence. Whenever a phone rings my heart jumps. Collection agencies and overdue bill payments. Bad credit, bad person. Criminal now, criminal forever. A dark cloud over my head. Shameful human being trying hard to do right in a world so wrong. Struggling up the hill that I constructed. So many loose ends turning into a noose that bends to kill. Stress, pressure weakens the will. Deadlines and ultimatums. It’s the uncertainty of another. Life on pause with no known note. Had to abolish curiosity to keep my sanity. My excitement for life has been drained out of me. Now I have to fight to get it back. Nothing to own, nothing to lose. Can’t place restrictions on a life that I didn’t choose.