Who Am I

Who Am I? Sulking shoulders hold up an inscrutable face haunted outsider with diffident fathers preaching platitudes simply for their sweet sound That lingers over the clacking forks at the dinner table. The wardrobe changes nothing As drab sneakers collect filth inside a Victorian house and only rub clean aboard the slow spin of a Ferris wheel; Scarlet jacket brushes past warped souls at 5000 RPM over a cliff and under a thousand gently beckoning stars: Moody eyes under an oil soaked Stetson growl throaty defiance for past grievances, Sneering the name that tried to smash his soul. Speed and time always kill quickly and completely Yet he roars on… The insolent youth in quest of one honest elder.