He was blowing clouds of smoke
His time was now, here
It was late
It was early
He still wasn't home
They weren't waiting
They were waiting for him to leave
He didn't want to be there
He wanted to vanish
To the land of the forgotten
Where he could be a ghost
His head hurt
His stomach roared
His face behind a cigarette
His heart soared
The bottle was 1/4 full
His mouth was dry
The rain had settled
Puddles gathered
The last drops fell from the roof
Onto the floor
Do it again!
Do it some more!
He was restless
But oh so tired
His limbs would not give up
Although he had already given in
A long long time ago
One more for the road
He finished his poem
Along with his last cigarette
Tires kept rolling
Drying the roads ahead
He watched time stroll
Into a dimension we call, the past
No comments:
Post a Comment