cornucopia of concepts
she looked at me like a conquest
& yet this compass still directs me where to go
its probably hurt I think
a concept I'am all to familiarized from
a form Ive sketched endless times before.
"I threw up on the world"
text messages from ghosts
we've all had better nights then this one.
& yet I cling the the misery
as if its some sort of mystery
simple ministry of something so foreign
the open road is my only forum
scorching through a vast night
no importance...at least that's what Ive ignored
she tells her self anything to feel important
I do it to stay alive
open mouths in the renaissance of thorns