“I can’t help it, if I wanted to”
There is much joy
In waking up.

Up to no bad
I wake down
In the morning.

These dreams
Are nothing like
My youth ones.

The road less traveled
Has traces of my scars
Long lost belts
Plaid shirts on the branches
Blood parties are held
Each hour is my birthday.

Life was once miserable
A drunken paint can
A feverish piano
Held daintily by a yawn

“People always told me, be careful…”

The road less traveled
Bears my name.

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