(Theme: almost)
I used to go to church with my head hung low and arms crossed over my heart
you were a light for eleven months before you cast off playing a part
I convinced myself to belong to a boy until a week parted our ways
Almost only really counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
#
The notes of a familiar song drifting through panes of glass
half intelligible, words muddled somewhere between
melting point and the classification "static liquid"
the music broken, fading in and out
weaving into my consciousness until
the chorus rings louder and truer than the solidity of brick walls
and I am no longer here
I am there
with the applause and the raised voices
my body left behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment