years from now you'll sit and think
and wonder why and here I
thought that I was the victim
in this existentialism gone awry

but I'll always just be
the one that got away.

you'll be the old man at eighty
in a hotel room somewhere down a highway
staying up till five am
as the flies buzz in
and gather around your head
drinking whiskey till you die

while I'll still be this young thing
in your mind all smiles and brown eyes,
wrapped in brown blankets
with a tiny bird tattooed on my skin
just waiting to begin.

and in the end we all become
who we least desire to be
except for me because I intend to gain the world,
and all you'll leave behind
is a legacy of a man who built an empire of nothing
that no one can intend to find.