I WROTE A FOUR WORD LETTER
in post-script and crooked lines,
Though I’d lived, I’d never been alive,
And you know who I am - you held my hand as I traveled blind
listening to the whispering in my ear, soft, but getting stronger,
Telling me the only purpose of my being here is to stay a bit longer.
Stealing a bicycle chain as the handlebars crash to the ground,
The back wheel detached from the frame, still rollin’, yeah, but aimlessly drifting around