These People

I’m running around State Circle with a blindfold
and feel the moonlight pervading the world around me.
10,684 miles away from where it began, occurred, ended
and I remember the life inside of me
when I knocked on her door for the first time.

Punks at heart like us we don’t belong,
with our hearts always lined up against the wall
and no news ever reported about our sacrifices.
Addicts at heart like us we don’t belong,
with our hands always holding injections of unrequited love
and no social worker ever caring about our hideouts.

I’m stumbling up Brisbane Avenue with handcuffs
and hear the morning silence break the dreams around me.
Twenty-five hours away from where it began, occurred, ended
and I remember the death inside of me
when I knocked on her door for the last time.

2 thoughts on “These People”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *