Art, Poetry
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Burnt Out Junkies

Remember those times when we got high,
and seemed like the night was ours to ride?
We were the rebels rebelling against
nothing but our monotonous lives.
We tore through those long summer days,
when we stripped clothes to take safe from the heat,
but it was truly our bodies we wanted to see.
We were children claiming a remote
clove in a forest for us, both you and I,
and we played and stayed the for so long
they took us for dead,
And when we showed up our faces turned red.
Oh, to think what they would say if
they knew what we did, you and I, kid.
Who could forget those days flickering off
the tip of a burnt out cigarette?
But if only the joints we smoked
and the bowls we puffed could
permanently put ourselves on the backburner,
and let us become drifters
on a flowing river,
just letting our lives float by.
If only the drugs could make us
forget how much shit we were in.
If only was an answer and not a question,
and if only it could explain why,
we were in the pain we were in.
Or why we put ourselves there to begin?
We were the burnt out junkies

Burnt out on the life we were living.

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry
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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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