seven

I wish I could say I knew you from somewhere else but you are 

from the same dirt as me. We grew wild between the lines of 

barbwire and interstate. With too many days spent digging out 

from under the changeless stare of a blank sky. Nights held 

up by last gasp flickering truck stop neon. No place could be 

far enough away. With the maps of our hands stained by every 

backroad and ravine. Derelict cars and lives that never took 

root. We have spent enough mornings of Marlboro lights and 

wishing the sun would die. There is comfort in the familiar; 

if it is enough for you it's enough for me, I'll finally call 

this place home

.