The things we find ourselves doing when walking in disobedience

Laughing out our misery

After hours, toasting about fleeting happiness

Making jack asses out of ourselves

On treasure island

The canvas of a soft moonlight

That quickly turns to amber murkiness

As dawn creeps upon us

Casting fishing lines into the sea of forgetfulness

Hoping to reel in a real sense of how it is to be a real girl or real boy

But the bait doesn’t seem to catch any hope at all

Only tugs that result in seaweed & debris

Good morning