Glocca Morra Nostalgia As A Place
There is a place where I can go and spend my days.
There is a grave.
There is exciting things to say.
I pull apart.
I take the pieces of end to make sense of the start.
Cold and I’m clean (I catch myself some times).
I shut my eyes (trying to find a new low).
My stomach calls me in days (forever on the road).
You spent your time (forever alone).
You can have mine.
No secrets.
No tired eyes.
I shouldn’t try so hard.