It Was So Cold That Summer

What does it matter? All bruised in repose listening to the way our lives used to smell and feel. Guess I am a shitty writer but at least i have a nice haircut. But then i am here and all of that is gone. Yet I feel it lingers. But its all indecipherable. And i listen to your voice all alone calling out in the universe of saved and recorded media. You thought and it was a bunch of thoughts you would regret later. Forsake it all that title ends and the next begins. One after another. All we offer witness to is construction and destruction. This aural fainting you once resigned yourself to. Before you found something better to express an excess of not knowing who you are. I had to have that explained to me. A lot of times. You were there and it was a distance relegated in the best of terms. A crappy nineties pop rock band. So a few door down. And all i did was stay enraptured in a distant embrace. It was a dirty mirror and i always saw my face. Your bits of songs and poetry. Touching barely to places you were too afraid to go. I wonder how you so easily wander to and fro. From this to that. I am still and still here. A different place and years later. I am perfectly alike every envisioning i never had. Cause when i was young i was right. And now i am left with nothing but a lot of somethings i should of been. But i split mere seconds prior into this, me you know that old here and now shit. You were a babbling brook always broke and filled with a bored grief. In the melancholy city you once felt happiness. But hell this city kills in any way it can. Its hard to embrace and face. This space is place. Its only urge is to erase.