A Late Night Walk Home
The wind could care less about skin that shout "I'm to weak for burning freeze".
It's still passing by with the dark rain clouds in the sky.
It knows my mind's destination,
I'm craving for the savoring smell of chicken and macaroni and cheese,
I make a long leap to my feet,
I look around.
I'm in a place where men hunt for meat,
And I can already smell the nature broken air of gun powder,
And i can hear the muted screams of the late night hour.
But my ears can't be silent like it's surroundings,
At least one has to boom!
Blocking out the crying crickets,
Singing loudly to the moon,
Black mist blinds my eyes from creeps of the dark night,
They're known for lurking for the late working,
Sitting inside of unloved homes where the odor of burned clothes and tall grass
lingers through dark alleys of broken glass and molded liquor.
Where memories sleep.
And I have watch my feet.
Every step is a quiet one.
I can't let them know I'm out here,
Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2015
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