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