i dont know how to hold something beautiful in my hands
without breaking it.
i look down. what have i done!
the memory of its shape still clear as day.
its smooth surface and its lovely imperfections and shade
ive memorized every spot.
but before me now lies a broken carcass
that cant be put back together again.
the panic and the dread creep in on me
like the smoke from a building on fire
and takes my breath away,
i didnt mean to.
hyperventilating now, scrambling to pick up the pieces
but it will never be the same.
this is what happens when you take other peoples advice.
they dont have to live inside of you.
ive broken my favorite thing.
I used to have friends in this town
now everyone's dead,
or the bar's closed down.
and I'm left with these cloudy memories
too dusty now to see clearly.
a neighborhood full of ghosts
down every street hovers
someone I used to know.
a slew of kids dressed to the nines
in their grandmother's clothes
playing ironic music on keyboard guitars.
I used to feel at home here
now I don't know anyone.
30 years ago my brother passed away
he was just a baby
and I think of my mother and how she hurts
sometimes I feel it's hard to go on
when life is filled with so much sadness
the longer you live the more it
like papers do on a desk
I keep trying to put them away
but they are always there
it feels like life is just one big chaotic mess of
bills and notes and lists
I'm still trying to figure out
where to put all the people I've loved.