There's this light
that sits on top of a hill
in a town you've never been to
that casts broken
shadows over houses
you will never call home
and there's a street
made of pavement
and time and
skinned knees
that sections off
lawns made of
grass that cannot
remember the day before
that's where I live
with the ants that
make your legs itch
while you sit
falling in love
with words on a page
and if you watch the light for
long enough
you will forget your own name
and instead tumble
down that same grass
and into a lake made
of each and every promise you
have broken
the general store
is filled with stale coffee
and a man in a worn gray cap
pumping gas
and filling himself up with existential dread
you know it's him
by the way the yellow light
turns his face into the night sky
and swallows you whole
before he turns back to
the pavement under his feet
and wonders about
3 a.m. phone calls and the green cast
around your arm
and then you will take the number 13 bus
filled with women covered
in cobwebs and lipstick stains
back to the street
lined with houses you will never
call home
back to light that
turns your name into
a foreign language
back to grass that forgets
and stars that always remember
this is a town called forgotten
and it is a place I will never let you go
that sits on top of a hill
in a town you've never been to
that casts broken
shadows over houses
you will never call home
and there's a street
made of pavement
and time and
skinned knees
that sections off
lawns made of
grass that cannot
remember the day before
that's where I live
with the ants that
make your legs itch
while you sit
falling in love
with words on a page
and if you watch the light for
long enough
you will forget your own name
and instead tumble
down that same grass
and into a lake made
of each and every promise you
have broken
the general store
is filled with stale coffee
and a man in a worn gray cap
pumping gas
and filling himself up with existential dread
you know it's him
by the way the yellow light
turns his face into the night sky
and swallows you whole
before he turns back to
the pavement under his feet
and wonders about
3 a.m. phone calls and the green cast
around your arm
and then you will take the number 13 bus
filled with women covered
in cobwebs and lipstick stains
back to the street
lined with houses you will never
call home
back to light that
turns your name into
a foreign language
back to grass that forgets
and stars that always remember
this is a town called forgotten
and it is a place I will never let you go
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