Names can’t hurt me
Thirty years have passed.
The memories are blurred and inaccurate.
This semblance of a life has been lived, thusfar, shabbily.
Taken for granted.
Every opportunity shirked for immediate gratification.
The years pile, heavily, on these shoulders.
How many can they, must they take?
Everything is different yet nothing has changed.
Locales and minor characters come and go.
Vices gnash their hideous teeth trying for all their might to tear at my reserve. And miles to go he says.
Miles to go before we sleep.
More vomit...Yes the last line is stolen from some other poet you've never heard of...Prove me wrong please...
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