Do you feel this thin strand resting in a pinch?
That’s the thread that you curse, curse constantly.
An eternal patch on a quilt that hangs from a wall in a throw frought with our decay…
From six states away, five years of guilt postmarked four days before my escape.
Do what you want
And how you want it
Feel it’s right, go out and do it
Think for yourself
And think for the best
Or you’ll go down just like the rest