Brown Paper Bag
Filtering out images of homeless minds
drinking soda pop
in brown paper bags.
Dreaming of flying to
neon lights
plastered like
mirrors
on the wall.
We talk allot about tomorrow.
Future plans.
Illusions we pretend
are as real
as the knives
we have created.
Throwing balls against the dirt.
Tossing words like
jangled wounds
into the
fires of remorse.
Hide and seek, that is
the game
we like to
perform.
And being reborn in
new shadows of cigarette ashes
gathering like sand-castles
on the beach.
I reach my point of no return.
Finding electrical wires
scattered
across my newly cut mind.
We talk allot about tomorrow.
Future plans.
Illusions we pretend
are as real
as the knives
we have created.
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