End of the Road

I remember the end of this road,
where railroad ties lay rotting,
and beer cans,
once forgotten,

their sun-faded labels,
or reach out with razors,
pull-tabs

that cut our soles.

So, let’s carry on
with this memory,
bittersweet,
black and white,
like a hangover that takes
a beautiful night with it

when it goes.

I know you don’t believe me,
invisible scars are deceiving,
but I’ll take the other way,
because I’ve been here before.

Good faith was fading,
the rusted sign said, “WA_NING,”

encouraged,

you went for more,
but at the end of the road,
it was easy to see
that you had

been warned.