Come On, Holler

The bench on the road leaving
town is like my home.
I sit alone with a cigarette,
Scraps of defaced paper in hand,

Looking out in hopes of
spotting a known face,
Before returning to the emotions
I threw at a book,

Drowning in the thick despair
tied to my torn clothes
with unbreakable string,
Inhaling a long, slow death –

Come on,
Holler at your boy.

come on holler

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