It was my world

It was my world

This life I created between the peaks of the Santa Monica Mountains

Each memory a wooden stair molded in the dirt

A biblical story written in the confines of a bedroom

Green ivy replacing the white paint on the walls

Golden sunlight drowning the dried-up oak leaves

And a prolonged fear of bees

While moss crept from beneath the shaded mulch

I kept walking

And driving

And smoking

And talking

Solving the loneliness, this childish void

A natural expert on the wild life in Laurel Canyon

But a complete stranger to the worlds outside my own.