“It’s nothing personal.”
Sighed the ticking of time, with a thieving gale
My vexing hexes flit free
“You won’t need these where you’re going.”
Much to everyone’s surprise, I go willingly
“Oh, so happy to disappoint”
I muttered, turned away, and ran
Ran a distance measured in years
Now, the road sleeps, quiet as a grave
It doesn’t call. I can’t hear it, anyway
Got busy living down a dead end street
Dead in the best possible way
All I hear are children at play
While laying my Sunday’s to rest
Too tied up to writе this down
Though, I thought you should know
I definitely don’t need to come back to this
