#WritcoPoemPrompt118
Endless highways of misdirected means,
To walk along the lonely street of dreams,
To live in a world where nothing is as it seems,
And take pursuit of pleasure to extremes.
These desparate days of not knowing,
Or wishing it never was
How the value of truth has diminished
How I play Rock Paper Scissors with my gun
I've wandered alleys that were straight from Hell
Seen sights of horror in real life, that I never can tell
The milk from the poppy helps me sleep
Otherwise, I live with memories that make demons weep.
Broken highways, unending streets
Mile after mile passing underneath my feet
A life not wanted, an abortion who survived
Thrown into this fucked off world
with a bad moon in my eyes.
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