Staying home selfishly
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Is this the perfect thing,
is anyone listening?
Her tear drops were glistening
the last time she spoke to me,
and I followed them down to the floor
as they fell from her eyes.
The water tower is waiting
for us by the highway,
and so what if I say that
I don’t care about secrets,
or the names that they call me.
I only want her to see
and my luckiest number is three
so I’ll count back from ten.
I couldn’t see past the end
and I was really just stuck on this idea
of me at the center.
It gets better
the less you’re reminded of
the place that you thought you loved
when really the only thing there
has since long gone away.
Teleporting Typewriter 