Stories Of The Han

It is in the dark of night When I drive in my car Speeding down west on the 118 Then hopping onto the 5 Which then merges unto the 101, Music blaring, The moonroof gaping open, The wind ushering in that cool air, The city lights of Los Angeles in the distance, Those small unremarkable specks of ember, Coke rap in full turnt, This is when I feel most uninhibited and free. The night rank of mischief and uncertainty. Long drawn out affairs of depression, Flashbacks of cringe, rejection and abandonment, Refine themselves with goblin glee. I am imperfect, I am flawed, Too passionate, Too lost.