So God-Damned Bitter
A Poem About Running Away
There was something in the wind
this morning.
A haunting breeze, smelled of thunder.
There, up over the mountain, a promise
of a better day —
or a lie, I wonder.
This world makes you make
money at any cost,
leaves the streets all red and bloody.
I wanna sit beneath the trees
but we burn them to make paper.
We print it almost just as green,
God damn, it makes me bitter.
I’m getting in my car. I’m done.
It's burning in my blood.
I’ll hide it in the rivers.
I’ll sleep in the mud.
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