William Maxwell

May 25, 1998 - Manchester

I'm so sorry

In her room

On her bed

She was the rising sun

Autumnal oranges with hints of red

Dancing on the walls

Psychedelic kisses

Nothings is ever as perfect as this is


Though the sun always sets

A thousand shades of pink

Ultraviolent violets filling the sky

All painted black eventually

Apart from the speckled starlight


The cold of the deep night

As souls are sleeping

Breathing in 4/4 time

A common time signature for common people

Then there’s the stragglers and delinquents

Bar room brawlers and disgruntled infants

I believe they call those bar room crawlers

Although I was not so witty

Or pretty enough for anyone to care

She hangs pictures of her and her friends

On a board above the desk

Happier times with wild smiles

Dressed in Sunday best

I felt so sad and sickened

That I was all she had now

In this strange town

Her shoes of English leather

Matched my soul that matched the English weather

Just an obvious blend of grey and petrichor

My reflection in inconvenient puddles on the floor

I suppose that was me before

I don’t know if this means anything

Is it meant to mean anything?

Why does love seem like everything?

It’s all just one big comedy

Or was it a tragedy?

Or are they both dancing in the moonlight

And crying with laughter

As we pretend everything’s alright?

I thought I had things to say

But I never want to say them

I don’t know if they’re true

I don’t know what to do

But I thought I wanted to say them once

But every time I see you

Things just feel different

But I thought we got on well

I wonder if you’ll read this

Or if it will hide in the back of a book

That’s left on the shelf

Forgive me it’s hard to read

I never kept a diary

I have no order

And I never used to colour inside the lines
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