They say the water is fresh, but it tastes like lava. Like an orange flame in the sky, torture souls in the ground. It is the water fountain at the edge of the road, cars and people going by, and no one is saying hi. It cries intoxicatingly, bleeding profusely for a clean bed, a beautiful skirt, and a clean underwear, but no one cares. Stinky feet marching through like soldiers in the battlefield, livid daylight testimonials pearcing through the book pages like a salad on the menu, rocks giving it a purpose to live. Shut up, they utter, anguish dribbling in her face we see, dry tears dripping through yesterday’s scars for today’s newspaper is heard on the loud speaker. It bleeds still, I see it, you see it, they see it but no one seem to care as it appears I can’t seem to stop the train from rolling through the mud but He can. So, we wait!
Sometimes, your soul just needs to be fed.
It is Thursday and I am home, chillin. Yeah, I am home. Snoozing still. Checking time on the fly. I counted the birds, flies, lizards, iguanas, alligators, pelicans, frogs, butterflies, blue jays, panthers, squirrels, foxes, manatee, blue jays… they all came by to say hello. I took one look at them and paid them no mind. I am in the zone. The corona virus quarantine of sorts zone. No care in the world but the beer on hand. Self imposed it is not, a choice it wasn’t but here I am, shoot me then but no, ammunition I do not own nor care to possess. 
ludlum drive 
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