Where Were You Hiding?

I sit on the corner of warmth and cold, 

and lay on my back

and close my eyes.

You whisper words I already know, 

carried in the wind,

through one ear

and out the other.

I respond in a way that tells you:

"Yes, how tragic."

or

"I agree."

And you think nothing of it.

I'm Taking Over

I heard you play break up songs.

There are many who fight what they might call longing.  I call it conviction.

He owned a memorial of kind arms and tragedy.

Don't worry.  We all go wrong.

I'm a Long Way From Home

And I don't want to leave.

Every Party Needs a Pooper