Living out of a hardcase

allows me my own headspace.
Space is something in another parallel
ad when I’m not there
I’m in a place called hell.

Living out of a case
really is my saving grace
away from your constant third degree
there is no place I would rather be.

I’m now a lion and not a doormat
having put an end to the turbulent tit-for-tat.

My friends some from solid wood are hewn
and are always by my side,
always sweetly in tune with
what’s going on in my busy head.

I have at least this saving grace
living out of a hardcase allows me
my own head space.
(c) Chris Black.
Poem borrowed from my book of Poetry and Short Stories
Same Train, Different Track.

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