Friday, January 1, 2016

Couch surfer

They idolize my independence by
sending me on along my way
I feel the rush of being as soon as
the reasoning's explained as to why

I feel the rush of blending into the
blur of comings and going through
peoples places, poems that are just
daily household waste instead of

Running, I lay, exist in a kitchen
already evacuated by officials,
nobody special, only the keeper
of a world no one else is living in

"This is the future I've life-scripted." 

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