take me away,

on a chopped Harley.

i know i'm 1 percent.

bleak and grey is my home,

as is my heart;

one and the same,

metaphorically.



so take me to everlasting sunshine.

it'll burn me, redden me, crack my skin,

and i won't fit in,

and the ocean air will mingle

with newfound rejection,

and sting my cracked and toasted flesh.

but that can heal.

and cancer of the skin can't be so bad.

the hopelessness is worse,

the true silent killer.

lose my brain cells, not my hair.

lose my soul, not my life.



so take me there,

although i will not stay,

beneath the palm trees' decadence;

i cannot survive there,

but it may save me.

artificial air may inflate me,

the sun and fun and west coast hypocrisy.

i know the grass isn't greener.

but i hear the sand is warm.

and if i'll never belong,

i'll do it on my own.



so take me.

on the wings of a Hell's Angels' spirit

or on his, more tangible, motorcycle,

safely adhered to grease and grime,

protected from the unforgiving asphalt beneath

and from the pressing gravity;

(situational or, otherwise, literal pressure).

on wings.

flying,

with an outcast,

like me.

maybe i'll learn something,

beneath the palm trees,

the harsh sun;

on the boiling sea,

the shifting sand.



so take me.

i cannot make it anywhere,

so why not fail there??