He walks down a street in the teenage wasteland,
Listening to a no named band,
Everyone loves,
A cold smile and watered eyes,
The wind is showing him the way,
He feels an empty pack of cigarettes and feels their comforting lies,
And tries to keep ahead of his own,
He feels the wind blown,
In his hoodie and his hair,
So he forces to stare,
At oncoming cars and pries into their life,
A young couple laughing that cuts through the cold like a dulled knife.
She cant believe she’s here,
But amidst the guilt and fear,
He grabs her hand,
And feels it all blow away like sand,
She starts to laugh,
As he does in their little car,
A moment she cant let go,
So she holds his larger than life hand,
Laughing with the band, laughing with the music,
She sees a man walking down the street in the snow,
And once again she is sick.
She leans her head against the window and looks at an old man in the next car.
Memories fading but always the more clear,
There used to be a swingset at that park shaped like a deer,
We had been there with the kids,
Smiling like the young couple in the car next to me,
They were laughing a second ago,
But like all good memories and shows, I suppose too that had to go,
Shake it away old man like you can do so well,
Its not their fault you’re living in a museum hell.
A man walking down the street smiles at me,
Or is that just what I wanted to see?
He realizes who she is,
From an old life,
Turning his head he sees an old man stare him down so he shoots a smile,
No one notices and the snow is beginning to make things cold and wet,
He says he should go home he bets,
And as the ghost stops laughing and puts her head on the glass in front of him,
The prideful son,
Takes over and he makes a left,
It wasn’t her besides you were the theft,
That took her for granted in everyway,
Some words come out and he hears himself say,
Ill just go this way.
Her head is making the glass fog around as it starts to go numb,
So she lifts it off the glass and stares at the fog,
Draws a cartoon dog,
And smiles in admiration of her work,
It starts to disappear,
And again she starts to feel the fear,
Fear he will leave her again,
Fear she will leave him to do protectin’
Our lives are not our own,
Like changing songs on the radio,
Everyone has a time when they need to go,
He’s rubbing her hand with his thumb to ease the anxiety.
The light turns green.
Cowardice.
He feels it worse than the cold,
He says he should pull out his phone and make a call,
But hes not that bold,
She looked happy anyway,
They deserve to be this way,
Like a radio station changing’ a song,
This life forever too short always feeling long,
He punches the walk button to make it go quicker,
As if he could outrun her.
My muesum is too crrouded with ghosts,
I walk into it too often to make made up toasts,
“may the Gods keep the wolves in the hills and the women in our beds!”
Ill exclaim and hold up a glass to the shadows,
A tar black hand looses bit of shadow on me as it says it loves me,
Venom.
The shadow keeps it hand on it till I shake out of the museum,
A car honking and a *******, yeah I can see them,
The light is green.
Was it a shade?
She turns up the music to drown her thoughts,
But it turns back to late nights on his ****** moth eaten cots,
Forces it to the man by her side,
He hasn’t lied,
He has only made her feel like it on the night she cried,
The man next to her is quiet,
But that happens after you make the music hurt,
That was my fault in the end,
Always is.
“I’m sorry.”
She reaches her phone and types the words but doesn’t hit send,
Changes it some new word blend.
Where to go when all there is snow?
And no money to show,
Or else he’d have spent it on more smokes,
The snow soaks,
Need to follow my feet,
And keep walking down the street,
Anywhere is fine to get the sublime,
To feel warm and at home,
Again he tries to pull out his phone,
But the words slink and slide on his mind,
“I’ll be fine.”
He should delete that ******* text.
First attempt at a long poem, hopefully add more but would love to have feedback on if I should or scrap it and start a new one
