sometimes i drive through sections of town where the houses are hidden down private drives with trees lining the street so it seems like in the middle of the city there is nothing for miles

i guess it is sort of the truth as there is nothing there for me in the hidden homes with happy families playing monopoly or doing homework with smiles as they talk about their days

sometimes i drive through congested streets lined with cluttered yards with discarded bikes laying in the yellow grass with tufts of unruly weeds that wave happily in the breeze

these feel just as foreign to me as the hidden homes just as out of my realm of reckoning unfamiliar with alien undertones that speak to the scars that line my broken brain in insidious whispers

i long to drive down one of these streets in one of these towns and come to an intersection that feels familiar in some peculiar way that ends with a door that opens to a smile that lights the globe

seems there are miles left to drive