Literature
STREET VIEW
Street View
Sitting, in this parking lot,
dreaming of the scars that time forgot.
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch the world burn.
Sometimes, in this darkness, this stranger into which I turn.
I watch them all go by.
I so wish I could watch them all die,
take them out!
Show them what I'm enraged about.
This dark instinct calls,
screaming up and down the halls,
wailing in my blood.
A curtain call before the crimson flood.
Red rain drops.
Sand lots.
Dry like the season.
Empty. Without reason.
And I feel so strange
Like a stranger, lost and deranged.
Evil, like oil, covering my soul.
A dark cloud driftin