This callous cold bites my toes
And this worry keeps me awake
What an awful companion this winter chill makes
In the city that housed my adolescent fantasies
I came face to face with this wiser woman and she
Does not like to bullshit
Months before I was sure I could make a home
On this street
But tonight, when that girl and this woman meet
I become the slug on the wet concrete
At least I wished I was
Instead of this neon sign, always abuzz
The truth is, I am a chicken shit
In the face of sacrifice
But these months of oblivion had me so down
Among the subtle sweetness of this salty town
I am as shrouded as the slug
But as exposed as the neon sign, always abuzz
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
There is no such thing as could have been
Yesterday is a long lost friend
But one I can no longer relate to
So often I have ached for you
Romanticized the past
Till it became a beguiling melody
The sounds evenly soothe and pain me
A hearty, heavy breeze
As rain drips from emerald trees around me
My new green world
Makes a muddy mess of memories
What was and what could have been
Are divided reveries with parallel paths
And on the road that landed me here
I keep traveling back
Gathering wreckage
Adding it to my suffrage
Each time the story changes
Or perhaps it is me who rearranges it
To satisfy the selfish parts of me
The parts that cling so dearly these pictures of what was
I dig through the memoirs zealously
But cannot see what I want to see
I see you and me
But dear old friend
There is no such thing as could have been
Yesterday is a long lost friend
But one I can no longer relate to
So often I have ached for you
Romanticized the past
Till it became a beguiling melody
The sounds evenly soothe and pain me
A hearty, heavy breeze
As rain drips from emerald trees around me
My new green world
Makes a muddy mess of memories
What was and what could have been
Are divided reveries with parallel paths
And on the road that landed me here
I keep traveling back
Gathering wreckage
Adding it to my suffrage
Each time the story changes
Or perhaps it is me who rearranges it
To satisfy the selfish parts of me
The parts that cling so dearly these pictures of what was
I dig through the memoirs zealously
But cannot see what I want to see
I see you and me
But dear old friend
There is no such thing as could have been
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