I had a thought yesterday
while sitting in my spot yesterday
that perhaps
the wanderers among us
those who've gone astray
from the meniality
of day-to-day
those few
the ones who
smile at the morning hue,
the strangers you meet
that you'd swear
you always knew
yes,
those few
perhaps they are
the way they are
through not being without
pain
pain that perhaps
brought change
or perhaps just
bruised their heart
and left them
never to be the same
perhaps something
sharp enough
to leave a memorable scar
they're the ones
you can trust
they've escaped hell
but with their unwavering smile
you'd never tell
they've been surviving
their whole life
but you'd never know
of their strife
no, they keep the daggers
hidden inside
yes, it destroys them
kills them in time
but you best believe
they'll tell you
they're fine
'cause they've been on the side
of a cliff
their whole life
the edge
is the only thing
to which they are close
living
in a constant state
of almost
but to me,
it seems,
those with dark backgrounds
stand out the most.