I keep you in my back pocket
for lonely Sunday evenings
or Tuesdays when he doesn't come home
when he's busy with something else
someone else

You hate me for it
and I hate me too
for calling when I shouldn't
for needing you
when I really shouldn't

We're painfully predictable
don't you think?
half a decade
plus some change
of this same insane
almost love story

We make plans we won't keep
the house by the sea
just simple nights on the sofa
or star gazing somewhere
we're just so tired
and it's been so long
we're all talk
we always have been

We fight about nothing
on the quiet days
just to fill the gaps
and as an excuse to make up
but still there's so much
radio silence
screaming
pining
lust

love

I miss the simplicty
of being yours
being young
in the back of class rooms
in tragic classic novels
with folded down pages
something you always hated
the songs about heartbreak
autumnal sunsets
champagne coloured skies
perfection at the horizon

Do you ever count the bad days
and wonder why
you let those hours pass you by

Why get out from under the covers
the comfort of memory foam
and the cold side of the pillow

Why sit in traffic
listening to those same over played songs
wanting to scream at the top of your lungs
at the changing lights

Why sit at a desk
with almost strangers
checking for the count down to lunch
or any type of break
from the relentless machine
of the everyday

Why not pack up and leave
move to a place where you count
do something that matters
without a six am alarm
but that's just another thought
to pass the day

Sometimes I want to crawl
out of my skin
into a beach body
sun kissed perfection

Lost somewhere out at sea
amongst nothing but rolling waves
miles of silence
and occasional stillness

No longer existing
far away from dry land
and all of the anchors
scattered in family ties
and at nine to five desks

You're a firework
a momentary thing of beauty
on cold nights
under amber city lights

You're a leaving train
when you're already running late
loud
and endlesly frustrating

You're an alarm
on a Sunday morning
with the cold side of the pillow
putting the day on snooze

You're rain
with a forecast for summer
or the cup of tea
and you're feet up
at the end of it all

You're everything wonderful
but terrible all the same

The summer is a dream
heat through open windows
on lazy, restless nights
bringing out the best
and the worst

The summer is a storm
just waiting to happening
breaking the silence of clear skies
falling against dusty concrete

The summer reminds me of youth
days spend in parks
pretending to be warriors
fighting the monsters
on the other side of the swings