Burnt cigarette ash on my sweater 
I look at you, your lost philosophy’s 
Who were you, at age fifteen? 
City streets are dirty now, but beautiful 
What from; Life? 
Sweet numbness of car rides 
Road trips of traveled cities 
Where do we go? 
When we have no destination 
I throw my jeans on the floor and lay 
Counting the cracks in the ceiling 
Dreams of Paris, dreams of foreign land; one day 
What do you do? 
When all you have left are memories 
Pieces of a past you don’t have 
I light the candles; I love the smell of sulfur 
Campfires of childhood 
Smores, hide and seek, and hikes 
Remember the innocence? 
Now I want to give in 
Surrender to my memories 
Dreaming of my Paris 
Baby blue walls confound me 
And oh how the window taunts me 
Of what could be 
What would be? 
One day 
One day 
And I look at you, tall, thin, sad 
Do you not think I see you? 
I see through you 
I lay, telling you of my dreams 
And you’re dirty 
From lies, mimics, and jokes 
Have they taken you? 
Or did you go willingly 
And as a tear goes down my cheek 
I dream one last dream of Paris 


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