Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Hobo.

Being free isn't romantic.
It's cold.
It's no destination.
It's another hangover.
It's free fall and windswept and waiting to see where you land.
Some days
being free
means
wishing you were held down
and forgetting that you were back to back
at the end of it
and forgetting how the frown broke your heart
and thinking
this walk will go forever
and knowing that today
there is no warm and loving embrace
at the end
only more
cold
freedom.

And then
if you are lucky
you might
be the person
who was once loved
and you might think to yourself

well

freedom
at least
gives me the freedom
to love you
forever.

And with that thought
you dress yourself
in a friend's room
packing your contradictions
a ventolin
some cigarettes
and you exhale
last night's numbness
from your soul
and walk into the shivering dark
with a hood over your head
to show the world
you are hiding
from all the freedom
it has to offer.

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