lean toward the bend

image

We’re all beautiful dreamers
walking around with sleepy eyes.
These corridors all look the same,
they’re drenched in nostalgia;
dripping with it, really.
I’ve walked these halls,
got lost in them.
Looked in these mirrors
to see past selves
reflected like ghosts–
I will not say Bloody Mary.
What if we are chasing
the wrong moments?
What if we never leave
these narrow passageways?
Memories
fall out
of melodies
one note at a time,
tumbling over the next
with each pressing of the keys–
a baby grand of emotional slaughtering.
Each note is bending so you can hear.
Each finger is breaking
sound
like hearts.

We are a careless lot.

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