day dreams.

She tends to heroin addicts

He writes songs in the basement

Haydenish sounds sneaking

Up the staircase

Both lost and hidden

Inside of dark corners

Pretending they can

Stand in the light

He dreams in the morning

Of packing lunches and

Bus stop walks

Waving little hands

At the back of a big yellow bus

She unwinds in the morning

With her first glass of wine

“Yo, we would make the dopest kids” he tries to engage

She just wept leaving salt stains on her pillow.