soon you’ll be gone,
all the way across the country by dawn.
soon i’ll be alone,
in a house, not a home—
with no one to help me out,
no one with whom to hangout.
soon it’ll be over,
i’ll just be the leftover
soon i’ll be solitary,
a choir without a hymnary.
now i must stay in the present,
before life becomes unpleasant.
now i must keep track of my memory,
but life doesn’t have cameramen like a documentary—
there’s no one to keep track,
no one on which to fall back.