The sun is coming up in the Monday sky, and I could toss and turn until these sheets caught fire. It’s an eight-semester game of chance in this lonely room with these empty hands; eight am is the last thing on my mind. But I can count the ways we let the minutes slip from our hands in this dorm room dance of days. And I think its safe to say that we let the good days get away.
Where were your arms when the wind was so cold? Where were your hands when the time was so hard to hold? I’m coming undone thirty-five miles from home, on this winter-campus wasteland all alone.
Hum the bars to the saddest songs. Look in the mirror and wonder what went wrong, the handsome kid the pictures show is gone. Now Willimantic’s got her cold teeth in me, sucking dry the dude I used to be back then. I know the rules; I set the trap that snared me. I failed the test of time and time again.
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