I sing intended prayers outloud masked by punk/indie roots
"cause I am, and I am, and I am so scared"
trumpets rake the leaves muffling my lungs
that pulse.
I cry out because I'm dying - I'm
driving miles and miles of farmland at the winds whim.
When the burnt orange sun dimmed away like the smoked cigarettes
thrown in the dewy grass, I was lost between what felt like mountains
on either side.
Dark cricket concerts and narrow gravel roads infront of me,
and I know not what was even behind. The scenery chaged so quickly
and all my strings untied.
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