Im glad the streets you roam and houses you call home don’t know my name
I can’t say the same but soon enough you wont live in the forefront.
Your car in my driveway, my bed empty; deja vu, fragmented.
How and why is it more of the same. Im walking in the park, grass on bare feet, shoes on the bed
I used to smoke cigarettes alone in the park, then you made it yours, again.









