I have the urge to create something beautiful,
but these walls do not inspire me at all.
I have spent years studying the grain of their wood,
the brush strokes in their paint,
and the scuffs they have accumulated over the years.
They are the same as they were years ago,
and do not inspire me at all.
I can hear nature calling to me—
a whisper carried in the wind
......
Listening to some old Lou Reed
With the wind in my hair
And the taste of a cigarette
Fouling my lungs
I looked so good in yr convertible
My sunglasses wrapped around my eyes
If they knew better, they would say
They saw Lou resurrected on Yonge St.
I cranked the music louder-and listened to the end
I took off my faux leather jacket
......
one night we drove for hours to make up for all those lonely days. somehow we always forget that time isnt standing still for us to melt together. your words have become my favorite book, and your thoughts ar the ink in my pen. we stood together in the cold feeling perfectly free, noticing the beauty in every single star. your skin fits me nicely, but i would have smiled in that picture if i knew it would be our last.
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prayers for roadkill
fifty states of license plates
home is the journey
i can’t stop dreaming of the desert; penchants of empty spaces and rare faces
no destination in mind i just drive
i can’t stop dancing in between
the middle of everyone i meet;
i never leave the door open
and so no one ever peeks
i don’t know what i am
or where i’m going
......
I have the urge to create something beautiful,
but these walls do not inspire me at all.
I have spent years studying the grain of their wood,
the brush strokes in their paint,
and the scuffs they have accumulated over the years.
They are the same as they were years ago,
and do not inspire me at all.
I can hear nature calling to me—
a whisper carried in the wind
......
one night we drove for hours to make up for all those lonely days. somehow we always forget that time isnt standing still for us to melt together. your words have become my favorite book, and your thoughts ar the ink in my pen. we stood together in the cold feeling perfectly free, noticing the beauty in every single star. your skin fits me nicely, but i would have smiled in that picture if i knew it would be our last.
Continue reading
Listening to some old Lou Reed
With the wind in my hair
And the taste of a cigarette
Fouling my lungs
I looked so good in yr convertible
My sunglasses wrapped around my eyes
If they knew better, they would say
They saw Lou resurrected on Yonge St.
I cranked the music louder-and listened to the end
I took off my faux leather jacket
......
i can’t stop dreaming of the desert; penchants of empty spaces and rare faces
no destination in mind i just drive
i can’t stop dancing in between
the middle of everyone i meet;
i never leave the door open
and so no one ever peeks
i don’t know what i am
or where i’m going
......
prayers for roadkill
fifty states of license plates
home is the journey