The Maps Filled with criss-crossed Broken lines and the spaces in Between Loosely covering The pale green walls of my room. Sheltering the cracks Shaped by forgotten dreams And lost memories Finding their way back home The maps will sometimes Lead them along a path Before releasing them back To the place they were first born.
The Maps Are more than just “Pieces of paper” They are my future My hopes and dreams I drew them with my blood And plastered them onto my faded Walls with my scarred hands And broken fingers They encapture the pathways of my Veins and the Flow of my thoughts
The Maps Are what will help me Become who I want to be And get where I want to go They are aged, and worn They’ve been spit on by society And ripped to shreds by the demons Corrupting this place But I’ve taped them back together For hours on end These Maps, Are my life source My light When there is none The candescent hope Giving me strength When nothing else can. I will endlessly follow them Till I lose my last breath.