Up a Creek Without a Paddle
My foreheads a front yard
And people seem lean so hard
They imprint tracks on my mind
So often that I cannot find,
Myself anymore.
I'm washed up on the beach shore,
Of the ocean in the skies,
Eaten by the notion that all men's words are lies.
My hands are tires tired of turning,
But I'm learning,
How to read the concrete cracks,
On sun scorched streets and abandoned paths.
My hearts a clock that ticks off beat,
Trickling time trying to meet,
The standards that society keeps,
So impossibly out of reach.
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