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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Every summer in august my family gets into nicest car And starts our five our decent into my sage scented hell Granite, Oregon Granite is a bustling city with a population of 13 All of whom live in shacks made of wood that came from trees older than this country This 13 is Made up of, hermits, hunters, and war heros And luckily the only three people my family has ever met are the hermits We know the lady of the lodge who keeps it clean in return for a place to live And enough money to fund her meth addiction and we know her parents Bat faced mom who smells like cheap perfume And beer bellied dad that smells like cigarettes because once a week on saturday he dirves to the nearest town Half an hour away To buy enough to feed his weekly fix If Granite were a color it would be brown The only road is dirt And the only grass is dead Even the evergreens in granite are either burnt, or beige There is nothing beautiful in granite. It is not the escape from the city my parents think it is Our family goes to granite to become wholesome And leaves empty The reason those 13 live in granite Is because there is so much going on in their own minds That the only place they can stand to be Is a place where there is nothing And that is what granite is It is a small, insignificant, terrifying nothing. It is where broken people go, so that they won't matter Not to each other Not to anyone
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