journey through

A man of no country and no home, life is spent on the road, searching for the lost among the lost, keeping an eye out for the crowd whose cheers only echo in my mind, in the collective insanity. The provocations in my mind remind me of days when I wanted to walk out of life, out of the madness. Maybe it is time to reconcile with my demons and make love to the insanity in my bed. My life is a ranch of feral animals, where rats and snakes run wild and untamed, where weeds grow long and uncultivated. These lonely roads are for those of us who lost the war to life and to death. Mine is a hill of broken dreams and broken promises, of hunger and thirst, a loveless path littered with bones from the days when I could afford memories. A desert mirage Today, I dream of ropes and nooses, of days long by, of gallows, of the hangman, dreams of anger, with the rainbows in my aura turning to dust. In this land of the broken where I forage, there is no room for glee, no room for hope