You wanted to know where things were going.
Not far, it turns out.
We both came to say that we should just stop,
and the abandonment began.

It all fell out the back of my head,
a giant cube of compacted garbage.
It tumbled as it hit the asphalt at 30 miles an hour,
and I accelerated.

Sparks flew as the muffler fell and hit the hot road,
and the wheel went sideways and I left my seat
as all four tires were blown.

And now I'm sitting in a place I've called home,
but it doesn't fit the name.
Because somewhere one hundred ****ing thousand miles away,
I will find it:

where the clouds are in shapes I've never seen before;
where the grass is higher than it should be let to grow.
And the tap water burns as it goes down your throat.
And the window panes keep in the smoke so well,
that I'll stumble, slur, and cough these days away.
We're only strays.
Last edited by Martyr's Prayer at Jun 29, 2013,