On the edge of an often path
just another bridge to cross
and throw thoughts into the wind
before ink begins.
How harsh a heart can be
when dwelling in heartbreak
then suddenly laugh about it
as ink dries.
I use to wonder how many times
baby has been in a song
then realized love is the champion
be it right or wrong.
May my final breath be spoken
not written about just another bridge
to cross on the edge of a path
where ink flowed and dried.

burn baby burn