It’s an empty head
and some kind of breach on a cold
but comfortable evening in November.
It’s a dream, alive.
It’s a bit at a time, tidy this, organize,
put on something new
see how it sounds to your mind.

and i didn’t have to make it so
i didn’t have to say
a single thing i could have taken
one deep breath and walked away
but it’s okay if it’s okay.

Reel in the self-made melodrama
it’s time to breathe it’s time to laugh
and to forget once you
find the source–it’s in the
mirror there, the one with all the
half-imagined slights and scars but what the fuck,
no i don’t think
(i guess, if you want, but just one drink)
no i don’t think
(wanted to remember what you think. i didn’t think.)
no I don’t think
( i do still, not only blues and pinks)
no i don’t think
(until i do but when i think, i think.)
no i know
all that goes is what should be gone
all that should stay will stay
it’s only payment of tolls
for the perfect moments you had along the way
it’s okay and it’s okay.


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