They are the worst at wishful thinking
The first to cast a stone.
I think they’re better left alone.
We made our way into that house,
past all of those vacant faces waved their flags of feigning doubt,
hey man, there’s nothing to see here.
As pride just lies on its side in the hallway,
Screaming “I’ll get around to it someday,”
But for now, just fumble around
For a flashlight, or a candle, or other obvious metaphor
I’ll likely misuse, as I’m prone to.
Safe on back roads, sign language and secret codes.
Get carried away, smile and sway,
Don’t repeat mistakes we’ve made before, those things I swore I’d stop.
Oh well, I’ll try not to break my stride,
When I’m cringing at those nights,
Some things I’ve said I’d prefer not to relive.
They’ve been painting me shades of purple and green,
While I wallow between golden sheets.
I’ve seen a time or two, a ray of light pour through.
Brown paper prisons on my shelf have never helped
Contain these things we once so soundly understood.
And if you’re thinking about coming to your senses,
Well you’re welcome in as long as its for good.
We’ll chalk this up to life and love, and all the messes thus created.
How the time just flies in a life so separated.
Oh, and it wears on me like my conscience unclean,
With my eyes so glued to the remnants of my shoes,
So all that’s left to do is cleanse this filthy dwelling place
And try to break the news to my poor cat.
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