trains.

lucas johnson never fails.
he keeps on living in relapse
and texts with sweet precision.
the days of glory are over my dear honey
now they are filled with 1,000 miles between us
and very planned out excursions.
but your constant understanding of the stuff no one should understand
makes you vital and rare.
you speak in rythmns that i dream in,
i love you like i love my brother,
my mother
and my pessoa book.

and last night, i listened to the songs that were sung in that old living room
you know,
the one with the 3 windows and the beat up doors.
and there was kyle's voice
(ohgodhowmuchofagodheoncewas, if only for a few months but stilllllllllllllllllll)
and there was eric's sadness
(hero hero hero)
and there was jimmy's stories
(such a sucker on that sidewalk i was)
and there was chelsea's cries
(newnewnewnewnew)
and there was lucas's gestures
(forever on that couch)
and then there was i
(rustic voice trampled on by trains).