I'd give everything away
to get back to the pricks of Camden,
hear them rattle by and get lost at the dawn.
It's about time to admit
the loss of virtue
of being able to love in return.
I'd find comfort losing my identity,
overwhelmed with chaos of that town.
And I'd soak to stitches in the rain
walking mile up depthward Chalk farm.
On a rare sunny day of August,
tracing back my grievance at it's best,
I am finishing a chapter of a novel
said to be the most productive years.
Sounds of bargaining and getting drunk,
steal a pointless smile.
Taxi driver, offering cocaine,
helps to get my **** together for awhile.
God, give me another night like this.
Even better if - another year.
Maybe then I'd learn again to feel.
Maybe then I'd learn again to care.
Copyright © MachineIQ MachineIQ | Year Posted 2016
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