motel.

Semi structured rant.

This is the place
where everything means something different.
This is the face
in the mirror that changes the closer I get.

What if deaths not an escape
and these headlights are showing a reasonable doubt?
I would sell everything for the chance with the map.
Though I know if I did, that I still wouldn't.

There's a deaf man in the lobby,
I try to avoid being seen.
I see a blind man in the mirror,
I assume he has his dreams

I'm not passing the joint.
I can't find a point.
I'm saving my last dime for a coin slot in the parking lot
whenever I find the time.

Theres a wire in my brain,
and a scissors on the table.
My hands are rocks, immobile ,
and my tounge soaks through my paper eyes.

This is the place we come to,
to really find ourselves.
It shows us what we're not,
and how to find heaven inside of hell.

I'm racing with my brain,
with everything I've seen.
I'm losing against the train,
but I'm blowing off my steam.