Back to the streets I know will never take me anywhere but here…

All this time lingers, undefined.
Someone choose who’s left and who’s leaving.
Memory will rust and erode into lists of all that you gave me:
a blanket, some matches, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely, duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.
I wait in 4/4 time,
Count yellow highway lines that you’re relying on to lead you home.

I used to leave first, and now I’m left. I used to go first, and now I’m behind.

When did the most exciting thing to look forward to become something that is not exciting at all? Where is the adventure?

I know that I have to grow older and wiser, that I need to be an adult. But I would very much like to run away on an adventure right now. And not look back.