alexwrittendown

An entire library in my mailbox

Kitchen’s filled with dishes

There ain’t no bread in the breadbox

The left overs smell suspicious

Floor’s so dusty I can’t remember the color

Windows blend into the walls

Can’t uncover a single dollar

What happened last night I can’t recall

Looking out at the grey autumn sky

The body seems stuck to the couch

Anything left in that bottle of rye

Or perhaps in the tobacco pouch

Moments flash before my eyes

Vague old hazy memories

Can’t tell if they’re truth or lies

Treachery or treasury

If there was just a tiny spark

Something to hold on to

A ship on which to embark

Ideas worth seeing through

I’d sail that sea to the end of the world

Stop worrying about the daily grind

Use everything I’ve learned

Be the master of my own design