Poems from LopezGabriel115
we are the children born of machinery.
conrete goliaths,
strobe street lights dimly lighting a path never walked
down dark, vacant streets...
i was 17 the last i spoke with my father.
he came
home that tuesday night smelling toxic,
with the world giving away beneath his feet....
meeting him as a kid,
cold and indifferent,
but mostly confused and scared,
i took him under my wing:
isaac.
dull dead eyes,
gray skin...
the road of failure is
painted
in the color of hope
and leads to the jagged cliff
where my dreams
jumped.
the road back home is
brightly...
there is a girl
with gaps between her teeth,
and with hair loose and uncontrolled
that wraps around your fingers
like vines around a...