My Life is a Nameless Street

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I’ve been turned down so many different roads.
I couldn’t even find the subway at this point.
Maybe I have been going in circles on these same name streets.
Maybe I trailed the scent of something sweet in the air without knowing it.
My day started in the cold, chilly Chicago sun.
Now, the street lights guide me like lightning bugs to an unwarranted adventure.
I gathered advice from the strangers of the night,
but they won’t give me advice without sparing some change.

How different are the vendor’s glass storefront at night.
A beautifully dressed mannequin looks like a eternally tormented soul
trapped between play scenes, forever meant to hold a pose.
At the very least, I can walk the street and seek a way to my destination,
but I soon lose pace of what my destination truly is.
A map would be too trivial and make me seem incapable.
A phone call would make me sound too willing.
I rather stand on the bridge and look into the icy waterway.
I see the skyline in the calm waters, as fun as a carnival mirror.

The air thins as the false suns never burn out.
They seem to light up the entire planet,
or give me an opportunity to fight my fear of the dark.
Nothing has happened to me on these lost streets.
I think the city wants to welcome me like a
warm meal and a hooded jacket.
I am bound to find my way home
or establish a new one.
I am as thrilled as I am lost.
Maybe I can make it to morning maintaining my adventure.
Maybe I will collapse at the edge point of a drunkard’s bottle,
slowly searching me for valuables.
I think all of these things make for a great story.
I want to be lost, but I wish I knew what street I was on.

At such a young age, what am I to do but be a lost fool.

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