Robert Lost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood Tried to follow Frost’s journey as far as I could. Nah, f*** this, walking is terrible. I stray off the paths searching for something, a little more bearable I find a farmhouse and an old pesticide plane At this point the road not taken by has gone down the drain Steal the plane and now we fly Through pink clouds and regretless skies I jerk wide awake.. from my dreams, And my pillows soften my grounded screams.