The poor man is playing
So why can’t hear it?
I know that it’s a catchy tune
I don’t want to believe it.

I go to his room but he is never there
So I sit there alone.
Smoking.
Smoking.
Smoking.

I hate the winter city
I wait for the sun
I fall down subway patterns
I walk along to run.

I smile
“Today is going to be the day.”
I sit.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.

I can’t take it.
I need to feel real.
They need closure.
The world isn’t ready.

Don’t feel guilty.
The pen has yet to fall.
If you don’t like the way you wrote it
You’ll never like it at all…