Oh Kentucky, why did you forsake me?
After so many days of togetherness, suddenly abandoned on track 8 at Penn Station. I return to the erupted volcano that is my apartment in the aftermath, and everything is so quiet. So familiar, but like I haven't seen it in a while. Exhausted, I rummage about, trying to make sense of Reality, but ending up in bed with a completely unaffecting cineastic experience.
Not until I sit at that piano, do I unwind. I show the ivory keys no mercy; my mind shows none to me. I drink another glass of wine, forget the neighbors, remember all those vicious thought swirls that were so conveniently packed away during tour guide time, during BFF safe space. It is as though they waited patiently, amassed, drift in through my door en masse, like a pile of snow in the middle of winter.
I am helpless against their hurricane. I hold on to C chords and Dm7, hold my breath, and wait for morning.
Your stitches are all out
But your scars are healing wrong.
Hold on. One more time, with feeling.
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