Delivered to the academy of criminality at thirteen , studied under the masters , received a degree just prior to release , now walking the streets beside his captors ...
Educated by the state , now a wounded animal has been thrown from it's cage , to fend for himself at age fifteen , to make a living in his early teens ..
Fast food won't pay bills , no high school degree and zero skills ..
A life sentence for one mistake , a bright future snuffed at a tender age ..

Cars,
Like coffee pots,
Break down,
And more so,
When you least want them to.

So imprisoned,
The frigid,
And with no power-windows,
We didn’t care about the heat,
Only the smoke
That now stung our eyes –

Two-fold
Atop already open wounds,
And the cancerous,
Lying in wait, most often,
Indiscriminately.

So enters the second urge,
And it controls me,
I don’t control “it;”

“It” being a mood frosted
Amnesia, free,
Like beer’s hiss,
At the crack of a can.

And like beer,
“It” runs out
When the money does;

All too quickly to be
Replaced by the
Haunts of –

Bill collectors, war
And the knife in the drawer.

Something beckons when
We spot a diner from within
The snowbound derelict
We reside.

Scraped change and reckonings,
We can afford a few,
Drinks.

Forgotten were the coats when
We abandon ship, abandon you,
Abandon me,
And more importantly,
The haunts;

Our chariot, a remain,
A wreck on shores unknown
With bodies, perhaps,
Left for the living come spring.

And in the moments before she sleeps,
when thoughts begin to feel like dreams,
she often wonders to you.

She's a painter with her words,
but a clown with conversation,
so she stumbles through to give and take,
lost in ill translation.
So what she meant to say,
when she asked you every stupid question,
was she wished you longed to hold her close
with zero hesitation, and...

no ****** connotation.
Just the comfort of your touch.