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Home Is...
13:36
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"Well, What Is It?"
You are a perfect body of water,
I stand as the ground that blocks up the flow;
A hole in your ocean,
that stops your chance to grow.
I’ve seen how you’ve cracked through my mantle,
flooding streets and houses,
quietly turning off the lights
without saying goodnight.
You can’t dump water just anywhere,
now I know not to try
to start a home in the sea
Where you could drift away from me.
"Quieter Homes"
Oh, I've said it before,
you've got options and that's more
than I can say.
Especially when I'm waking
on new floors every day.
I don't expect a reaction,
because you're probably too high to even care.
But I'm stuck here thinking about you,
like I'm stuck with each pile of your hair.
I could clean it up,
but I probably wouldn't dare.
You shouldn't have come back,
(please don't) come back.
"City, Country"
The destinations on your
ticket stubs match up
not at all coincidentally
to the list of places that I hate,
that I keep above my bed,
the place I most want you to be,
but instead you’re off seeing some new city.
I spent all those months
tracing my future in your back bone,
trying to find my way back home,
a playlist of whispers and moans,
a map of land where I can roam.
If you were to ask me,
I’d tell you that it comes and goes.
When I’m trying to sleep,
but the sun starts to show.
"Some Nights"
Can you tell me what was louder;
the deafening blow of the waves of the ocean
pounding onto the their surface so forcefully
like your arms retracting violently back in your body,
or my first punching the wall closest to me,
and my apology
for getting so angry.
I never should’ve apologized.
You just laughed, you always laughed.
You just left, you always left.
Some nights are still so bad that I wish you never came back
Or that I never stayed, that I had the guts to move away.
Instead of putting faith into horses jumping over gates
we both take a different path, we both held different fates.
I knew four years ago, when I first met you, this would happen,
I knew I’d never sleep, and I knew you’d be somewhere laughing.
The most I can do is hope that when you’re alone it eats you up,
The boy you first met, the man you watched me become.
But I know you’re never by yourself or trapped in thought,
A girl like you takes pleasure in the wreckage you brought.
So now I ask of you only one parting question;
When a murderer dies, do they worry where their victims are resting?
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