I’ve been walking backwards into my footsteps trying to find my way home

But we’re all barefoot in the desert of lost souls

So if you end up at the house with the red door

Where the street lights illuminate the night life of familiar faces in dark places

Please tell them of me

I heard that home is where your heart is, so for now I’ll listen to my chest hoping to hear your voices.

I heard that the voices are the first part of a memory to fade. But I have tattooed your voices on my eardrums and your faces behind my eyelids, so my dreams will do you justice.

I am a product of ice boxes and broken black holes and I long for time to freeze again.

For now, I’ll sleep under blankets of memories on pillows of promises to red doors and street lights.