We were always moving but running away from nothing Always feeling like a disobedient dogs being drug into something called life Unscripted badly improvised while everything inside cried out for a plan I buried the map right here in the sand

Being raised by the 80's raves when the sunsets would last for days as we loitered the sea side saloons drunk wild and scary still happy and carefree we let people mistake us for fools

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quillpena Feb. 14, 2012 @ 2:15 p.m.

and sometimes, fools we are--every one of us. good poem.


kameronj Feb. 15, 2012 @ 3:06 p.m.

Thank you and thank you. Such praise is well beyond me and I am humbled by it. Thank you.


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