chewing happily on what is left
of this cold, grey, flawed world.
gotta keep right on running away, from it all.
towards tears born from lessons,
towards dreams instead of dollars.
half my age and stupidly brave.
cause anything is better than lying
in some comfortable deathbed.
staring into the abyss,
as afraid of living as i am of not living.
though one time i awoke and could
still feel the cold steel of a sword
that had been thrust into me.





Costa Rican flow.