donate to ya boy

Friday, February 10, 2012


this dusty old soul is in the same smelly clothes..
its been a while since ive loved
even longer since I thought about US...or her...or The U.S. as a whole..
I smell you on my lips..
I see you as I roll through the santa fe sunsets
your scent on the sand.
everytime I speak a sentence...these paragraphs are riddle with coincidence..
mysterious forces that sweep me away to the weird places..
like home.
again and again
along these rusty train tracks she so longs for..
& the whiskey on my breath says otherwise...these words arent ours
nor could I ever return without a battle scar
or war paint from the tribes I keep finding myself apart of..
but god damnit,
I hope were wrong.

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