paisley prints and ripped tights
early mornings and late nights
small pockets of the world
that feel like they partly belong to me
from how often I'm frequenting
arriving and even after departing
I've got the muscle memory
but there's some streets I'll never go down again
unless I'm transported against my will
with a sharp scent that rushes nostalgia
and transports me back to the trauma
or just the melancholy
of a time in life I'll never get back
time has fallen off it's tracks
and I'm somewhere in the middle of the crash
between the beginning and the end
sometimes I feel like I'm playing pretend
looking at myself from the outside in