I guess I used to spend my lifetime drawing lines
-in a roundabout way-
across the dusty, tired ground.
I guess I used to understand
while going around in my own personal roundabout.
T'was all. T'was mine. I didn't need empty bottles or
everlasting nights.
Then I dreamed about a snake that bit me. It hurt. But I healed myself in silence
just turning.
I felt sick, fair lights around me
thinking about that last day on the sand, drunk
thoughts -my own personal roundabout;
full of colours, shades, old-fashioned tunes, looking glasses. Reflections
as sharp as nails going across the waste land.
T'was all. T'was mine. My own personal beautiful
I threw you away, Last Chance. Fuck off. Go away.
Leave me alone, all of you. I've never needed anything more than
my own personal roundabout.

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