Wrong Way

November 23, 2011
I am weakness.
My hollow footprints
hide in quicksand.
Don’t go looking for them.

If some twist of fate,
drags you down a dark road,
jack hammered
into heavy lead pieces,
and speckled with fools gold-
go back.

Cardboard cut out bushes,
will captivate you
with tequila scented roses.
Drink away your newfound confusion.

Stop signs are crooked,
they tower in green paint,
to deceive you.
Run from me
and this grave bed,
dead end of mine.

Secrets are scrawled on alley walls.
The sound of pain whispers, in gusts of sin.

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