24 Apr

if your head were as cloudy as mine
you wouldn’t know all the things you do
if you’re hair wasn’t made of thread
the touch of a palm wouldn’t feel as true
But somewhere out there there is a something
born to rivet my soul
cut through my haze
make me change my ways
or die a forgetting
and forgotten boy
if your days were like the fields of the heartland
endless and alluringly the same
then you would see where I’m coming from
and wonder why I’m not more insane
if your ways were as crooked as battered brick highways
conquering acres of filthy and famished hearts
then we may not have ever crossed paths
we may have never surpassed the very start.


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