It’s the how without the why,
You’re the unrequited future,
The closed door.
I follow the idiots mistake filled with three parts fool and one part jack rabbit.
The backwards game that always ends before it begins.
My broken strings only play sour notes leading to grasping at shadows that fade at the touch.
Lived through to many winters to walk the empty roads leading to nowhere,
It’s what happens when one is left with nothing left to give,
Only the soul left to find to place in line for the chopping block.
The empty cup offered up, again and again, a beggar's trade.
A tattered heart has no home and finds no shelter.
It would seem only the lost find each other,
The chance encounters yet unable to recognize one another when they pass.
Without resolve one becomes lost in the moment that never returns,
The dream of infinite tomorrow’s that became yesterday’s regret.
Never confused for Don Juan, or Don Quixote.
When you burn hot it overheats the mind,
Leaving the mouth grasping for words that never come and what does come out sideways and bitter to the ear.
A chest full of skeletons is enough to keep anyone at bay.
It’s a fool’s errand, after tasting it once I can’t stop myself for pray that lighting strikes twice; it’s nectar which leaves all other taste rancid in the mouth.
Only the blind, deaf, and dumb walk in the direction of the unwanted.
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