Friday
The wind whispers gentle obscenities with it's icy breath...
Assurances that I am truly alone...
I stumble and fall on the hard concrete...
The true fallacy is home...
Walking aimlessly into the night...
I focus on all that I've lost...
I jot down random words..
Rhyming at any cost...
The song in my head is slightly off key...
Still dabbing the blood from my injured knee...
I'm always making it all about me...
I rot in this prison yet I am free...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2016
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