There is tempest quakes as I’ve gotten lost at many crossroads.
Seen from curses and birth-of-success.
In all my deluge and weary thought.
The traveler persists to know that freedom is not acquired or earned.
Even in my own most dismal quakes – I question how mine has been bought.
And focus in all my anxiety and suffering, I protect those I’ve seen.

Every other runaway and loner from some stray.
I don’t exist locked up in my room and I don’t frequent when you rip the arm off
And rather dislocate a shoulder than be abandoned.
Walk right out that door.

I’ve told those I’ve loved most.
I switched the tune, for myself.
I’ll stay right here.

It meant a lot when you said “you get a lot of work done and never have to leave this room.”
I suppose in that, I made the best choice and getting my life reallocated.
There is no secret.
And your Arresting-Officer will warn you don’t mention shit like it’s
A repented-confession.
This ain’t Church.
This is War.

We’ve been on everyone’s side.
And even you too left with me.
Change your gaslight in malformed-destiny.
My sacrifice is no safety to preserve the world from another bent episode
Of catching up on where the hell you all have been this whole time.

What ancient website could purview honesty?
It’s been 3 days.
And the clock’s don’t tick.
You’re on my debt now.