Brushing away stains around the ashtray,
reminders of my ill aim,
singes engraved to wood,
lessons engrained to mind,

A judge and jury,
at least that's my view,
to see these familiar faces,
staring back,
always staring,
castind down judgment while the look up at you.
Until I drop the photo to look at the next one.

It only flew as high as my hopes accompanied,
which was at the time,
only as far as my kindergarten strength allowed.
The shilver shine,
more than just a twinkle in my eye,
the winged ambassador of future,
this forgotten passion,
my model plane.

A flicker beyond that of my cancer,
the projection of the world,
CNN presents the static,
up to date,
The image reitterates,
deja vu, again.
A plane fills the frame,
a hero's story streams across the bottom,
each pixel revealed from the right side,
another word,
another medal on his chest.

Attention averts,
Back to the happiness had,
such a simple idea,
to hold a future in your hand,
and it costed $7.99
Setting the picture aside,
another view fills the void,
2 weeks over due, late payment,
a recipe for stress,
in this red ink stew.

You stare down at them as you take a drag,
cigarette thrusted towards the glass,
you hit the wood instead,
another mark to imbed,
these marks weren't the mark of of progress,
but maybe they were enough of a sign,
singes engraved in wood,
lessons engrained in mind.

Super rough Draft. Looking for opinions.