Where am I runnin' to,
Where is this world comin' to,
What kinda bangs am I jumpin' to,
What doors will I be bustin' through,
Be good cause I'll be trustin' you,
What burning bridges will I be duckin' through,
Who will I be becomin' into in the future to come?

Sometimes I wonder if they see
The real me
Cause if I die
Would they wear the suit and tie
Or look the other way
Opposite direction of the castaway

The poems.
The old, brown notebook,
Filled with all of my secrets,
Big and small,
Coded into poetry.