Roundabout

I guess I used to spend my lifetime drawing lines

straight

alive

breathless

-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

mess.

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.