A walk through the sighs

I have this natural desire

To burn my hands in the fire

To put my foot in my mouth

To head West and not south.

And it pains me to say this has always been my way.

I walk when I should run

Bathe in the rain and shun the sun

Frighten myself at the point of a gun

Its no fun.

I looked for the answers in a bottle

Mottled pink in gin

I sink into a glass.

Shouted “pass” to the offer of hope.

Now hung by a rope

I swing in the breeze.


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