Beautiful Disease

It’s a Road trip of sorts,How do you get there?Pick your poison.That’s rightWhere do you goTo be alone?Not to be seenBy any eyes;Other than your own?Isolate yourselfIn that room called, Safe;Lose yourselfIn the scene of the crowd;Throw yourself downFace first on the ground.Blind side eyes scatheThe imaginary ceilingFervently searching cracksFor the almighty trap door.Run like an inmateTo your fetish, The Escape;As if on a treasure huntThrough the neighborhood.Embrace the roundupOf Mother’s Little Helpers;Follow themWith rain water chasersTo your destination;A long way from home. “Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.”― Kurt Cobain      Playful

Source: Beautiful Disease


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