The Door

some days are too long, too draining, too sad some days last... frozen something missing, blame is all you get stop screaming, the outside world isn't listening. this door is closed. the judge himself is not man enough to judge himself- he worries about unrelenting judgments that began in the New York Hills the eastern door when you bit your lip as a guarantee inner turmoil was real to you, the wall is real to you, and you can’t get out this door is closed. stay a little bit longer on the ground- do whatever your blue collar working-class hypothesis tells you. your roots are shatterproof, life on the street is harsh harsherer than life in the joint and every five seconds somewhere in the world, someone goes blind and can’t find the door.