November's cold night illuminates my chest. Deep breaths include the faint smell of bbq and secondhand smoke. The chilling shiver that seeps throughout my being, forms a flashback of the 15 step staircase...which echoed through the steel within each stomp. The blood-red steps of this downhill phase. Manic chaos consumed the gaze of his eyes. . Forcefully perched at the top step, in agony as this grim shadow laughed. In between us-at arms length. A clock-work cycle mocked my heartbeat. Weeping like toddlers, not learning our lesson until we grow older. Unrealistic rules that set us apart. Hanging by a thread was the repetative quote. I had longed desire for the pure dove's faith. Pigeons beg for bread and give nothing in return. Oh how faith was no longer present. Only the cold polluted sky-black with no stars. Just bilboard signs and foggy white street lights, mimmicking the moon's blue glow. Truth, desire, faith. Ultimately replaced with shattered expectations. The pigeon begs for bread but is soley given a stale corn chip. Auto pilot motion takes affect. Spirit trembles with fear on the bottom of the staircase of doomed outcome. Hoping for the shadows to clear and the cold November night to disappear.