Hitchhiking. Riding the rails. Livin' la vida broka.

Watching people walk and cars pass, suns rise and moons fall. Dodging headlights, chasing strays.

Hiding away from the hard eyes that don't ask you to stay but don't make you leave.

Beautiful boy, you are, and going to waste.

But don't you worry, boy, you still look like poetry.

A/N: semi-prose type of thing, and i can't tell where it came from. hardfi and pearl jam, i think.