You may find me butchered in a cave of my own loneliness,
waiting for something like me to come around.
All these tongues stirring in this room,
breaking and making my heart and hopes,
yet none form words that call my name.
Those eyes watching me.
They dont know me, they only know my tattoos.
Spin more spaghetti noodles to this ever heavy fork.
Trembling legs file in and out of that buffet line of life;
varieties of unnumbered people unknown, and I still wont find my own kin.
So I leave with a stomach full, but a hunger for more.
Later Days
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