Lets talk about our past memories
All the stories and all the tales
Let’s talk about all our theories
And how they never seem to last
Cause we never seem to look past
All of our notes and all our facts
Let’s find ourselves alone
At 3am. Crying on our beds,
Avoiding the biggest traffic cone
Inside of our sorrowful heads.
Because we can’t escape ourselves,
What we’ve broken upon the shelves.
And we started counting in twelves,
Forgetting the one’s and the thirteen’s,
And all the rest in the in betweens.
Now we can’t find anything to be unseen.
If only we had taken our predictions,
And thrown out all our guns,
Lived like all the billions,
And stopped resting in coffins.
This is a poem I wrote to my old group of friends. It talks about how I told them our friendship wasn’t going to last, but they insisted we would all be fine. Long story short, we weren’t.
