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I think I’ll just sit here
brooding so quietly
in contemplation, 
indifference washing over me.

I've  been sitting
on cracking pavement
all **** day.

Bored to tears, but I’m just full of being empty.

I won’t feel this. I won’t feel this sting.
I’m not feeling much of anything

And I say “Love is just a lie, formed to get us by.” You said “Its too soon. It’s just too soon to trust you."

And as I look up
to this skyline we no longer share,
I can’t help but to feel like
maybe I just no longer care.

Maybe that’s too easy.

But I’m taking the easy way out.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s nothing left to care about.


Things aren’t the same.
I don’t feel pain.


I’m just not feeling a god ****** thing.
I like taking old poems and rewriting them in a different light. This is a rewrite of sorts of Cracking Pavement; Broodish
Give me the best of whatever you’ve got
Take that last drag of your last cigarette
**** my heart up and laugh
Break my heart as you dance
Give me a night I won’t ever forget

This is the last chance to leave it alone
Bumming a ride so that we can get home
Tear this letter to shreds
Make your home in my head
You won’t stop ‘til the feeling’s all gone

And I guess what I said is, “I think I’ve had enough.” She said, “You’ll regret it all. You could have had it all.

And I guess what I said is, “I think you had too much.” She said, “I’d never take it back.”

“I’d never take it back”
I’m sick and dreading tomorrow morning. Wrote a quick one to try and get some sleep
I’ve got years of feeling empy and
I’ve got friends buried in the ground-
If these feelings last forever,
Can you please not let me down?
Run up that concrete flight. Assess the scene and know that’s it’s not alright.
And push the hair aside - like moving ivy out of the windows of those glassy eyes.

Check for that heartbeat sign. The steady rhythm that helps determine if you’ve still got time. But it’s the pulse that you just can’t find. Nothing but the the bloodrush beat behind an aching mind.

So cover what you can with a jacket to keep from prying eyes. Let out a tremble and a silent sigh. Pick him up and take him out of sight and know that things won’t ever be alright.
This silence between us,
broken by the sound
of the rain on the rooftops.

This aching in my bones,
like they’re splintering under the weight
of this collapse.

The sun
doesn’t warm my skin like it should; nothing is left to fill this void.
It’s a new dawn.

Echoes
of tired footsteps through a desolate, empty town
reverberating off concrete walls and asphalt
but somehow never make a sound.

Ruminate
on this discord, the situation that we’re in - an impasse and it's a disposition that’s wearing thin.
I’m so used to writing sad songs
But I’m not sad anymore.
I stopped letting those disasters
Define me to the core.

And I’ve been content with what I’m doing;
No longer bruised, no longer sore
From this hard beating I’ve endured
(From this heart beating I’ve endured.)
And I’m not sad anymore

I’m so tired of writing sad songs
I can’t shake these feelings I’ve ignored
Like when I fell to pieces in the bedroom
Or when I passed out on the floor.

I was broken and alone
But you felt like home to me.

And you felt like home to me
And I’m listening to those songs I wrote when I was seventeen
I never thought I’d let that go
And so I think that you should know

That you feel like home to me
Daniel Mashburn Aug 2019
I wasn’t there, but I still see that image of you in the front seat of your car. The lights were on and it was a hot and humid morning; the sun was just coming up.

I remember that hollow feeling in my chest and the knots in my stomach when she told me in the doorway of the office; it’s that same feeling that I get.

I made phone calls to all our old friends to make sure they heard it from a familiar voice than read it in cold, dead words from a screen.

Mike asked if I was kidding, but remarked I would never joke like this. I heard the faintness in his voice. I heard the aching on his breath.

I was dressed in black that Saturday morning sitting patiently behind that wall that separated me from my friends. The guitar sat idly on the ground; my hands trembled from the anxiousness.

I stood up in front of the most people I’d ever seen in one place. I looked out and saw so many familiar faces that I hadn’t seen in years. And I lamented to myself that it had been so long, and it’s been even longer still.

My shaking hands strummed out a simple song my voice croaked with regret; but I sand that song for you, my friend, and I’ve played it only

Once.

Since.
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