post-collegiate alienation: dissemblage imminent.
could it be any less clear
which path to follow?
night falls, the woods turn sinister,
no longer do we romp through that which is well-trodden.
rather, we step gingerly,
picking our way past the ditches, the floods,
telltale signs of impending doom.
lost in thought i slammed face-first
into a tree,
just hard enough to shake it free.
watch the tracks for rats
seeking scraps.
we seek scraps of hope,
climbing up the weary rope.
some build structures and rejoice,
but we, we sing best as they burn.
burn our bridges, burn a city,
fire is so pretty.