The more I try to hurt you
the more it hurts me
and I am a shell of a the man
I wanted to be
drawing him in chalk outlines
across the stretched out
american highways
its all wasted gasoline
and road side attractions
that are unattractive
while I wind up out west
i wind down
till I am depressed
the hero is dead
and the more I hurt you
the more it backfires
worn rubber
thin on imagination
spider webs weave
them selves to me
at my slow speed
drowning in a coffin
of arrows
the sparrow sings
in the weeping willow tree
shading me
and its a most wonderful service
of bug chimes and bird chirps
dying to become fertilizer
so the shit show may continue
and its just casualties of war
to late to accept the accolade’s
or awards
its time to wake up
from the sleep
I counted all the sheep
all the way up to infinity
and I wake to the alarm
and I am a sad man in a song
confidence is a trick
I used so people thought I was smart
but I was really lost in the dark
stark raving mad
a lunatic who carries
sadness like a picnic basket
to downpours
they call me a narcissist
but I don’t even exist
i just exit
the highway man
as gray as the pavement
as dark as the asphalt
it is no one’s fault
but my own
and I own it
my aging skull
why must it
always feel the pain
all the blue sky’s
and sunshine
could not dry all the tears
in my eye’s