a bird without a nest to rest on

Another step

Another mess

Another passed test

Another flight after fight

I've become a bird without a nest to rest on

Not that I stress over the futile memories of a comfortable past

But a lap or a bed for repose 

Or to pretend death

Is yet an idea to consider

 

I miss the sweet taste of hot served talks

Of common songs and even late night wrongs

It dawns on me I reek of doubt

In need of shower

But I now walk drought wasted lands

Here my tears become the only liquid relief

But I fall not for the trap

I shan't weep before the uncrowned king

 

Walk