There are so many paved roads
So many street lights and wires underground
So many lonely people and dusty vinyls full of sappy songs about them.
Highways running across her like black, poisoned veins.
We are a love-sick tumor, spreading in the need of finding free parking in someone’s heart.
But the headlights track the snake’s back that’s eating its tail (it’s a circle, for God’s sake)
All roads lead to Rome.
And then back home.
Every time you reach out to embrace, you end up punching a bleeding nose.
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