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
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