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Hit an F sharp then drop me back again
Call me one day, the next I’m all alone
It’s the quiet rationale of the moment
when reality is an overpowering sonnet,
Is it an addiction to not want to be alone?

God, I wish he’d want to hold my hand
Better yet,
just have him exit the same door that let him in
Take the smell of his cologne
That’s never around and around
An already hung rope
that just doesn’t want to be found

In the F minor range,
Having a cigarettes and wine
Sounds to ease the mind
a shot of expresso, picks it back up
Brings it back to an even C
melodic and up tempo,
in the midrange of the keys

Note to self,
(don’t ever forget)
Engrave it in vital organs
and white ivory mounds
how many things
how many people
how many stories in this world
Can be so very much fake…
Are so very much fake

For JT