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Jul 2013
I feel like a body with no title;
A life that breathes with nothing to define it by.

It seems as though my engine as grown idle,
my tires ground to a halt,
my battery on empty (as well as my tank).

As I stand next to my life
     looking into the distance
all I see is fog.
The sound of my last cigarette fills the air around me as
it too
come to a halt.

Just as the last fiber of my being begins to unwind,
in helpless torment of the weight bearing on my soul,

headlights.
James Tyler
Written by
James Tyler  Memphis
(Memphis)   
448
 
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