i love the sweatshirts and shorts thing, because it means summer nights, borrowed cigarettes, binge drinking, grilled peppers, humid warmth, silent streets, slow mornings, tired eyes, and it defines me in an outfit. it's like a dog off it's leash. a rabbit in the garden. a civilian at the bus stop. an ornament on the tree. it's warmth amongst cold. it's beyond me and i'm beyond it. it's patient and scared, and i'm right there. i wear it proudly and sleep soundly. i ache and it torments. i don't push any further. i look deep in it's eyes and swear that i'll come back, i wont embarrass my soul when its pitchforked on a street i used to walk and sweat as i walked the beat. i'm looking for you to tell me the answer regardless of how many days i spent pushing and avoiding, on top of that i took something sacred and lit it on fire to see though the street.
i was a dump and everyone saw it. i made new friends, they couldn't be bothered. everyone has their answer, and their excuse. mine are the same. one of kind. the abuse.
if i had stronger arms i'd lift you and take you through the river with me. cooled but hot i'd move relentlessly.
bygones are bygones maybe yet again.
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