if the scribbles on my arm
are anything to go by,
messy and short of
telling the world
my version of life,
then call me crazy,
call me hopeless --
just trying to empty my guts
and leave behind some baggage.
where else do you go,
tell me, then,
how do you do it,
serenade life into submission?
because i've been a little shy.
been hiding in the shadows
and giving you the eye,
asking you in silence.
tell me, tell me,
where else do you go,
when there's no one
left to call home?