Looks at me
Quite pistol whipped
Cheap *****
A taste on my lips
Speeding down
United States
Federal Highway 1
I dream that I am
Dead in each ditch
I pass
David Bowie deep cut and
I want to be free like this forever
I try to explain
Using these letters
Cheapening
It just for you
Dutch courage
Nudging me
Neon Strip Bar Glowing
I'm a quiet person
Keeping to myself
But
Born a fighter
Hard fists scarred
Dirt under my nails
I never fail
To wake up
Hung over
On her words
Cautioning me
To slow down
Smoking ***
Playing darts
With old timers
And drunks
People and places
Long forgotten
Bloodied then
Whitewashed
Concrete
Wide awake
Always Dreaming
Dead asleep
In the driver seat