Habitual Line Crosser

Idle hands Twiddling thumbs Taking an unpredicted walk through the Devil’s playground Fallen Angels with flames still scorching their wings are tying off at nearby picnic table Swings hang low and empty Where future class valedictorians used to sit Now they sit in the darkness where the Angels cry The vacant basketball court is littered with torn “I’m sorry” letters, used needles, and smashed Wild Roses The air is polluted with “I miss you’s” from loved ones who had to save themselves while there was still something left to save Sneakers from morose motherf*ckers hang from the telephone wires A place where junkies are at peace while the inner Angel weeps Lonely in isolation Dark corner desolation Destination f*cking nowhere Tears of friends and family hiss as they hit the pavement Steam rises from the cracks of broken dreams and shattered hearts Humidifying every lie and bad excuse Precipitating our concrete pain forest In the circle of strife and squalors of nodding heads