once, in hell

i walked in the bar,
immediately barraged with eyes
and lips moving against me
in nonsensical motions;
the bar tender slid some fancy
cold to the palm of my hand,
i am the one living the life
(apparently).
i looked out the window and
a child played in the street,
leaves beneath her feet
storming around,
a tornado of her imagination,
they crumbled to their end
in the rustle.
i watched her laugh at the sound
of them crushing by her will,
that crackling noise
when the dried leaves break
from the support;
her joy in destruction
was beautiful,
'cause she knew that
it would all grow back.
i was still being looked at
probably because i was
staring at a little girl,
but for all the right reasons;
to be reminded of life
and how desperate i am for life,
indeed.