I'm outta here. I'm on my way. Ain't gonna look back. Gonna get away. Don't care if it rhymes. Don't care if it's brilliant. I can't stand my own skin. Don't want to be in it. Time to check out. Time to check out. Time. To.
Do we scream until we're speechless; then smile and walk away? Do we whisper vapor smiles that fade before our lips move? Would we know the difference? I. Can't. Hear. You.
Have the stakes been lowered till anybody can pitch a penny ante, don a crown and stake a claim? I've got two pair of nothing and couldn't find a care to raise or call. In my pocket is a piece of paper, folded, bent, crammed. A receipt with words in pencil on the back. How long will they last? Will you hold me to them? Will you take that as a marker? Or did you write your own notes on a napkin and toss it in the garbage.
I'm outta here. Ain't looking back. I need a world where gods fear to tread because the humans shake and rumble like seeds.
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