Drones.

Lock the door and let that light subside
While I play my song
Bang fists on the table amid the din and hiss
Sweat performs on my brow
And on the linoleum
Like a memory of action
I regret quitting smoking
And my fingers are brown with the nostalgia
I can fly
For a while
I can fly
I can fly
I can fly
I remember mother hit me
It was sweet for a while
Dad made me so nervous
Before the casket like a clam
Each movement is a digital silhouette
I am chasing somebody else’s dream
My music stops
My stomach sings disdain
I’m open to light
And the replacement says my name.

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