Winding

Chirp

Cigarette butts that sit, wrappers caked in dirt, evicted coins,

These grounds I walk covered in s**t

Demons around me, running fast, keeping pace, 

When they pass can you see my face?

Branches of trees I’ll never climb,

Will I make it there on this day? This time?

Looking behind, seeing none that follow

Where this path leads I do not know.

The road grows narrow in time

More and more feeling myself walk the line.

Not knowing if the flowers were planted by life or death

Or if these hollowed trees see my breath

Blood on my brow

Not looking too hot, am I now?