Who knew how much dust collects when the room hasn't been occupied since the town lost comfort?
Like going down a nostalgic street and finding not one mom and pop shop survived the wreckage
Like finding the remnants of your childhood through damaged wood holding familiar sunsets
I wish I could tell you why I came back, and I wish it meant things got better, or even clearer
I guess the truth on why I haven’t found any new answers, is I stopped asking old questions  
And for the time being, I got hold on how much weight drinking can crush your bones
And every sip is another joint waiting to crumble; every sip is another mistake to leave me humbled
I really wish I could fully grasp the reason I approached writing the way I used to
Maybe that person had a better idea on what to do.