my impasse

if you go down my street

and take a left at the signage(stop)

follow past the dead end, where they end up

you'll find something special

past crack dens and trailer homes

past the roads that bestow them

into the vines and thorns,

through overgrown remnants of wounds

a standstill creek, remains alone

with styrofoam scars and aluminum boils

the many marks, of what it takes to be human

and you can sit and admire, the thought of what caused them

because i realized, i pick up and mostly,

i dont litter at all, 

im the kind who gets lost

wishing id leave my own mark aswell