wordsworth

well… she’s gone now the wind is quiet the tree branches no longer whisper with themselves from my window the streets all look the same they’re not pine or montgomery or mc allister they’re just streets i cannot say the sky is blue or pitch-black or turning grey it’s just sky now is it october or winter i don’t really know it’s just another day i thought i was a man now i’m not sure i’m not man or human being any more i’m merely me this is it… after a long rehearsal … this is it