Being Poor is keeping your mind as a child occupied with newspaper and cardboard
I never had to go through that as a child
How dare I complain about not having it good enough
How dare I
It's been harder than most, but a lot easier than many others

"There is no sense in breathing,"
It was written on the wall,
In the ***** truck stop bathroom,
That made my skin crawl.
I scrubbed my hands,
And left in a scurry,
But the quote stained my skin,
Now red from fury.
"There is no sense in breathing,"
It rang in my head,
As I sped down the highway,
Now why would someone wish to be dead?
The thought spun my brain,
I didn't believe that someone so beautiful, Would be so insane.
But they were,
And they are,
And that's what it meant.
There's no sense in breathing,
If you're already dead.

I woke up,
Mid-January,
The light hit him just right,
He looked almost holy.
I traced,
His parted lip,
Felt the softness,
Before I pressed mine.
I breathed in,
The intoxicating aroma,
It smelled like him,
And clean linens.
He woke up,
Mid-January,
The light hit him just right,
He looked almost holy.