Sleeve Weather at the Fair

[fireflykid]

Those dusty old days
framed in brown photograph edges
their nostalgic displays
and precarious ledges
bar the way
We’re hedging our bets
and saving our lives
to make idle threats
and love those we despise

The dropout, the comedown
the tally, the fair
The excitement is carried
away on the air
Trust your senses
and your friends
A clear view depends
on a pint of blood
and a polished lens

Those rusted old toys
cold in the frozen grasses
abandoned by boys
and their pubescent impasses
(moving on)
We’re surpassing our means
and showing our age
with a light on a screen
and a turn of the page

The downturn, the turnout
the weather, the sleeves
Our survival is blown
away on a breeze
Drain your senses
and your friends
A tragic death depends
on youth interrupted
and wasted portent