The Journalist


We were crossing the street/You said it was yours/The parks, avenues, and alleyways/You told me true love/Is a sense of place

I wrote it down/It’s my career/Those are my words between the advertisements/ I’m the substance beyond the veneer.

I’m like you/ Owing reality seven payments/Are we so different/Should you judge/My artistic estrangement


You cute little romantic/You said I stole/Do you deserve a merit badge/For trying to fill you soul’s hole.

I guess I wouldn’t need to keep you honest/If you didn’t have to hate my existence/As an inconvenience to your passion play/ You’re the kind of person who tells someone to go/When you want to beg them to stay/


About mw2828

I am a writer currently working out of the New York area. View all posts by mw2828

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