Every Little Thing She Does Is Tragic

So I’m out in town, trawling around right past the store where you work.
The sunlight burns my eyes as last night Ben and I drank till the hour hurt.
We stretch the minutes out, like skin over bone.
Its 1PM I don’t go in, I tease myself but never do.
I don’t need the shoes you sell and though we’ve still never met,
I never want us to.
Because I don’t feel much of anything, I just feign things these days.
Having something I’ll never chase just fills the empty space.
Could this black hole and its subtle nuances, trick me into thinking that this
is more than it is?
You text my phone, you said «I saw someone who looked a lot like you» and as I
saw my face in the elevator glass, for a second I thought I did too.
I can’t recall when it hit me, but it must have been months ago.
I’m coffee wired but still feeling tired, who knows if I’ll make the show
tonight.
I’m lead while you walk on air. I’m as blank as the white ties and tails on
Fred Astaire.
The grey and the silver reflect the ‘West Quay' light.
In the twilight of my youth I try to forget my life.
This train derailed, right from its tracks.