Broken Needles and rusted gates,
Treading over thorns and crushing glass in an apathetic state.
At best toss the thrown rock will crash,
Not without aggravating a storm of Asbestos.

Iron-lacking in socially acceptable art etiquette.
Climbing neglected buildings.
One hand gripping a rusted ladder,
The other, spray paint wielding.

Battling for space between the wall and the vine.
First time I don't feel misplaced, struggling for lines.
My minds at ease, I have everything I need.
A place to sit and think,

A place where the space is occupied by two high school kids.
Lighting candles that have merged
With the unstable rotting wood of the table.
Scratching their heart's words through bleeding pen nibs.

Loose leaf pages scatter the ground,
Not worthy of residency in my note book.
Reunited with the fallen leaves.
Reconciliation with my mind hook or by crook.