Five miles of road.
Three hours of conversation.
Never enough room to be anywhere else.
Too late for games but never still, never dark.
Always they say just one more time.
Turned down one more time.
But we lost our time, no more turning away.
No more sorries. Sincerities fall aside.
We are they who grew up. No matter.
No more. Hurt lets go like.
We're come and done. Did and then.
Air sucked from the heart, gone dry as the eyes.
Some feel the dark only long enough to see the light.
Flat as muds parched to famine.
The next to last might be the only one that grows.
Only I have such free time for these things.
No physical weighs on us. No more.
We jump to the beat one more time.
What it's all about.
It's not me knows.
Where the West Begins
16 hours ago