117 – Exit

No way to fix
What’s already broken
Before even hearing
The first word.

A harsh currency,
And scarce.

No time
Or patience
For half-hearted

I’d much rather
Dance with your demons,
Than tiptoe around
Empty smiles.

Ride fast,
Drink whiskey,
Face up,
Be true.

Die facing the sun
With a mocking smile.

Kick the doors to hell wide open,
And yell at the top of your lungs;
“I’m home!”

• • •

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