You don't look like the little kid who stood around in a circle with us. You're more filled out, more defined, with facial hair and a shaggy head of hair. I don't think I ever really knew you then, or ever. Not even on the couch when the power when out. You taught me how to feel used and broken. Is it supposed to feel as bad the second time around? You never told me. After months of devoting your daydreams to something, how is it supposed to feel when it walks out the door?
A young man in an office chair is snickering somewhere now with vindication on his tongue. I'm scared, and alone but I'll never drink that cup of poison. I'll start again somehow. One phone call and I'm bound to Tennessee.
I have a mental image of returning to the ghost town where I grew up. I'm sitting on my bed with a guitar on my lap, going over my high school memories in my head. I could call my old friends, but they're off living their lives and moving on in every way. I just don't feel finished here yet.
I have failed.
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