He runs.
His tired hands
Trembling hands
Hold each other to ward off the loneliness that follows him.
He's taught his heart not to love for fear of cutting his lover with the broken pieces that the reaper left behind.
He smiles
But there's a sadness in his eyes
Masochistic love affair with a needle and a pipe.
Fine lines and scarred skin
A never ending map for all the places he's been.
This boy is an artist
He dips his pen in the blood of fallen men
Each word he writes the rebirth of a generation
His lips make love to rhymes and give birth to revolution.
Haunted by the ghosts of the mistakes he's made
Soul heavy burden
He never stays
Once the pain is too great
He runs.
His tired hands
Trembling hands
Find peace within each other.
He's not lost
The space between yesterday and tomorrow
Between what was and what could be
That is where he has made his home.
That is where you'll find him.