Brecon Road

I bow my head and scuff my sneakers along the autumn damp asphalt
Blowing plumes of spectral-like smoke as I meander miserably by
I stood smoking outside of your house
Peering through trees at the curtained window
Where behind I fumbled inebriated in your bed
And chased you onto the frosted floor
I can’t help but wonder how attractive your little sister must be by now
Well someone has to answer my curtain call

Upon the sidewalk I’m dissipating into the orange glow of the streetlamp
Ghostly remnants reminiscing to when you showed him your dirty underwear
While I just sat and stared helplessly
A hapless boy not hitting a home run
Now I’m fleeing from wedding receptions
And making worthless vows yearning for somewhere fictional

If the words are worth the wasted breath
I think I smoke too little and think too much
My best friend is a pen that I can’t even hold in the right hand