Matchstick
The condensation gathers on our interior windows – the year was
2004, and it’s always been like that. We’ve been together for twelve years and
I just wish he’d stop; a matchstick personality is not ideal – I think I’m just like
everybody else but I was nervous and he was only angry sometimes. The dry
air fuels our fears – the year was 2009 and seventeen years is such a long time.
She kissed me as the years changed and I just wished she would leave; freedom tastes
bizarre, and my friends would cry. The first time I looked at her – I don’t feel like myself
but I start again and the windows gather water again. I prefer to be alone – the windows
hide pungent display. Ethanol and primary colours; you’re all alone and you keep
the cold out. The year was 2013, and it’s faded into obscurity – have you seen the interchange
station? It’s quieter these days, it’s strange and I’m getting older and more alone. It’s too early
for a song, it’s too early for hope and dreams and you’re on trans-Atlantic cables and
there’s nobody left to care. It’s a waste of time, mould grows on the window-frames;
the panes have crumbled long ago. The year is 2019 and it’s starting to get old – 27 years
has come and gone, and I’m already gone. It never made much sense; a matchstick
personality falls back on old ways; and it never made much sense.
2004, and it’s always been like that. We’ve been together for twelve years and
I just wish he’d stop; a matchstick personality is not ideal – I think I’m just like
everybody else but I was nervous and he was only angry sometimes. The dry
air fuels our fears – the year was 2009 and seventeen years is such a long time.
She kissed me as the years changed and I just wished she would leave; freedom tastes
bizarre, and my friends would cry. The first time I looked at her – I don’t feel like myself
but I start again and the windows gather water again. I prefer to be alone – the windows
hide pungent display. Ethanol and primary colours; you’re all alone and you keep
the cold out. The year was 2013, and it’s faded into obscurity – have you seen the interchange
station? It’s quieter these days, it’s strange and I’m getting older and more alone. It’s too early
for a song, it’s too early for hope and dreams and you’re on trans-Atlantic cables and
there’s nobody left to care. It’s a waste of time, mould grows on the window-frames;
the panes have crumbled long ago. The year is 2019 and it’s starting to get old – 27 years
has come and gone, and I’m already gone. It never made much sense; a matchstick
personality falls back on old ways; and it never made much sense.