I sit in a morose despair of shallow indignation.
I am inevitably present without ever wanting the music to stop.
And that’s the potholed highway that destroyed me
I see the moon watch over something that’s apart from me
I have the waste of my fucked insignificance become a fickle thing.
Where have I gone
On my own packed path and yet
I have a brain with confused thoughts and sad poetry
My brother keeps me sane
And the other makes me live
So desperately needed for this reason
Can the miles become dark when the violins keep playing?
It keeps me sane
I want the red to travel far along the beach highway where the filter is sunset