Old Friends

thiscausticautumn

We’re cut off like the burden of branches.
And we are all dropped,
down the well.
The sweetness of not having ventured
or ever gained much,
down the well.

I’m swimming with my old friends.
we don’t need no rope.

We were caught with our backs turned,
Pissing in public,
into the wind.
The story goes, we were red handed,
So we’re called out,
out of the well.

But I remember.

We are old friends. We are faceless. We are vacant.
We were old then, but we are ageless.

We’re given the sweetest of medicines.
Told to swallow,
to look out the window.
We’re given ten thousand good reasons,
but we swallow and look out the window.

I’m sleeping with my old friends.
We don’t need no bed.