Vagabond - a poem I wrote earlier this year in like 5 minutes to vent about the cyclical nature of finding new communities, shows, hobbies, and 'passions' only to grow out of them, and they become only a significant part of my past and eventually not even

It’s been a while since my last stop.

I’ll lie in the next ditch I find.

I’ll lie in it and make it mine.

Filling in the spaces the galaxy left behind.

For no one in particular,

With no specific intention,

Not placed by any sort of divine intervention.

But I’ll lie in it still

And claim that it’s mine

I’ll keep rolling in it

Until I get evicted

But maybe I’ll leave with a speck of dust or two.

But surely, those will eventually leave me too.

And I’ll keep walking around until the next ditch;

The next ditch for me to obsess over;

The next ditch for me to dream about;

The next ditch for me to lose sleep over;

The next ditch in which I’ll roll around.

Cause that’s all there is,

Isn’t it?

That’s all there is to it.

That’s all there is to be had.

Is it not?

That’s all there is to it.

That’s all there is.

Isn’t it?

That’s about it.

That’s all there is to it,

And this?

This is it.