This poem existed
in the future...
I want to be worth more than your money.
Stop looking...
You work alone-
Striving; constantly...
You run upon the lavas of all your fears,
though...
A time comes
We look back...
All these roads are as the print of lashes
on his body...
Find me here,
behind my words...
Dear Little One,
This world might feel a little strange...
I follow the sunlight through my shadow;
breaking a smile in my broken conundrum...
Let me take words
and paint you a picture...
I’m not sure if it was my tax-free street...
bodily-harm PTSD trauma type of shxt...
Where am I living,
How am I living...