To King Krule: My Retelling of Biscuit Town

[Poetry In Motion]

Sniffing the hydrangeas, the night begins to blossom
out there in the dancing wind, I dare not scream.
I dare not know what the night brings for me.
I live in the city streets of Biscuit Town, homeless I am.
The wind continues to blow harder than before.
And when it does the orbiting rings in the sky
protect me from its barrier of air like it was some
kind of magical spell from a witch,
or wizard like in Harry Potter.
Sniffing the park plants during the pitch-black of night.
I take my time to remember a life I once had.
When I was a rich man in Biscuit Town.
When I was a normal man in Biscuit Town.
 
I remember when I was a dancer in Biscuit Town
performing my rave-like moves to people.
They seemed to be enticed and hypnotized to it.
But yet I felt like I was missing something.
A fistful of lies and crimes against myself.
Inside this world and in Biscuit Town.
I felt like leaving this earth and the city around.
Since all I have felt was an empty hole in my heart.
The way the city blocks operated, the hum-drum.
The misery of dancing in Biscuit Town.
The misery of being insane in Biscuit Town.