Strangers – a (crappy) poem.


The rain on my windshield is a distraction from the road
little staccato bursts of light
and I would pull over but there’s nowhere else for me to go.

I guess I didn’t pick an ideal night to leave
but the stillness in the house was slowly killing me
the lease is good for 3 more days but I’m all alone here anyways.

It doesn’t seem right
it doesnt seem polite
to stay.

And all the little things you left behind I threw away
I’m not good with souvenirs
that weren’t left for me anyways

The house is full of shadows that I tried to leave behind
and some of them follow
and most were not mine.

There’s a hourglass and a shot glass
sitting side by side
and I’m right here on the
wrong side of the divide.

 

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