Still. Alive.

We are made of confused atoms and endless fathoms

And falling in love, in the wrong place at the wrong time

Chasing cigarettes on sixth street astride a flock of pigeons

On a sombre wedding day, runaway like the cotton-lily bride

But her wrists are coated with bright red lipstick she wiped off

After she found out that happily ever after didn’t really exist, train

Dragging along the sidewalk, scraped skateboards and wet chalk

And grinding teeth and damp laundry scattered by grumpy landlords

Perfect enemies knocking down old drywall while the rats complain

And the best friend you haven’t talked to in decades just showed up

At your doorstep dead 2 AM, mostly drunk sometimes troubled to crash

In your couch, grin that familiar grin and ask you how you’re doing

Pretend that the medication in the bathroom cabinet’s only Ambien

And quietly sneak out the morning barelaced and shamefaced so

You’re all alone again, tapping to the faded songs you never recorded

Right by the dusty windowsill as elusive spiders build their homes in

The flat you can’t quite call your home, haunted by strangers’ past bodies

And his awful-scented aftershave of coriander that seems to linger forever

And an uprising in every locked closet hiding identities and mothballs and

Childhood VHS tapes and taped-up mystery boxes containing what might

Just be forgotten yellowing letters and cheesy postcards from every state, or

The very key to unlocking the ultimate truth of the entire universe itself…

But we’re all too busy losing our phases and being torn back to ashes to ever find out.

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