I packed my soul in a suitcase
shoved it in the back of my truck
and drove down the highway
going 80 on a 55
because who cares about speed?
all I care about is leaving
and getting where I need to be
turning up the radio louder
blaring waylon jennings
through the old speakers
when headlights shine out of nowhere
and a horn blares from above
no below, above is below,
below is above? I don't know
but my suitcase gets tumbled
through the air as well as my body
the truck falling as well
over the guardrail
and I'm flipped over like a stack of pancakes
one, two, three, four times
until I'm laid to rest at the edge of a lake
and my suitcase has popped open
and my body is gone
and my soul is gone
and there's no place I'd rather be.
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
