Trust

It became hard to walk into a house, I was to afraid to call my own, because the pictures of myself looked like a stranger.

Everyday I walked in a different direction, hoping south would turn into west, and I'd head into a new dawn.

South became north highway seventyone, and I was in the middle lane without a car.

The trust I once had was a semi, and it was guilty of vehicular manslaughter.

It was stuck thirty years behind bars, and was now to afraid to be locked into a pinky promise.