Im realizing here isnt home if we aren't.
As my plans alter, I feel unsteady,
unsure, not ready.
So i'll go back? Just pass through each known place like a ghost wandering through halls that were once mine but hold no warmth anymore.
I think it's needed now.
I'll cut off my extremities so I don't have to hold your hand when I walk that circle, chasing just the chance at remnants that we were there at all.

Im chasing a feeling.
I go to say that nothing good came from that place but that would hold no truth cause you were proof.
A poet. An east side story.
A broadway play that spoke no names.
Brilliance that didn't belong in this place.
Im still on the pursuit of happiness.
I know i'm still living in the past
but that because thats where I find it.