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.