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Nineteen years
Just old enough to think you've seen it all
This stop sign's an undramatic curtain call
A collection of all my fears
Collecting thoughts
I caught my breath
In a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you
I packed my things and carried them home
And then I carried you home
Safety surrounds me
In late light security
A vision quest on city streets
Obscuring where the city sleeps all night.
The headlights don't work this time
The headlight are held on the turn signal's swan song.
I sold your things to call up a cab
And you picked up the tab
300 bucks
Your body's on the trunk
Engine is locked
The rope is in the trunk
I counted backwards
I counted hours
I counted ways to pick your frame apart