Night wander.

The roads are empty

It’s three in the morning & somehow I can’t hold my thoughts from intruding.

Feeling a little disassociated,

My head won’t quiet down.

Reliving old stories that don’t have an end.

What’s there to do on this lonesome night?

Dark hours are creeping,

The roads are silent,

My mind’s gone wild.

On a full moon & these so called “demons”are my friends.

My focus isn’t here anymore.

Codependent to these parasitic coping mechanisms.

Surrounded by an unprecedented type of peace, you know?

“A rolling stone gathers no moss” they say.

Uninhibited by daily structures,

Day dreamin’, absent minded to the present.

These vices have never felt this compulsive but tonight…

Tonight feels a little different.

It’s three in the morning,

These roads are without end.

Feeling drowsy & the night’s still young.

A fiend to the beauty of our sins.

Cheers to another cathartic lonesome night.