battered faces on flourescent sunshine
distorted truths- this world, hurts.
run down landscapes of old thrift shops
and burning industry smoke stacks.
this is where lost dreams go to die-
like a million hopes that were never
meant to be.
crossing at the intersection
of harsh and reality.
and from the interior of the
skeleton of a car,
the shelter is less than favorable
but more than nothing at all.
but we are huddled here
waiting for our shell to
blow away.

03/20/2003

Posted on 03/21/2003
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