January 5, 2017 by Alfonso Acosta

117 – Exit

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

Trust,
A harsh currency,
Unforgiving
And scarce.

No time
Or patience
For half-hearted
Bullshit

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!”