Empty streets, full of crowds,
restaurant lines, strangers’ smiles.
Fast history who am I gonna be?
Safest route, not liking where it leads.
Success belongs to everyone,
failures belong to me.
I hoard them like a motherfucker,
so just leave me be.
I revel in them like nothing else,
draw me back to some place else.
Cozy enough with the cold & the trials.
Don’t mind me when I wonder off.
It’s not about myself or the hoops I made.
It’s all about myself, is there anything else?
Part of a disease, part of something to prevail.
Always something else in the middle of this wild.
hotsurf_ 