No more promises to go to bed earlier
No more making up meaning for the mess on the floor,
No more pages all across my desk.
No more of the big clothes to hide what I don't have.
No more burying myself in those goals I made.
It's all just piling up under me,
Pushing me up toward the sun,
And the longer I wait, the more I think it'll go away.
But really, the longer I wait,
The more it gets worse.
1)
I think that when he looks at pianos,
The keys are stained and worn in
With grooves and dents,
In the shapes of his fingerprints,
ghosts of peo / ple hiding in this house / they grew up in and left / hiding under tables in clo / sets long thin men pale pe / ople dark people all hidden / separately in the same room / waiting for the seeker to finis / h counting endlessly endl
He can see kids glowing in the kitchen,
Hands sticky with sweet gossip,
Bright, beautiful little selves smudged by the window that he,
A cracked old statue has broken his hands and fingers by banging on,
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