Window watchers stare mournfully into murky water of yesterday and tomorrow
This place, my past present, my future memories and my forgotten ones.
All too tomorrow and all too yesterday to be properly remembered and yet totally forgotten because what’s the point.
Suddenly a rush of time and I am in navy and gold and white and insecurity
And the colours remind me of me and him
And I’m a child again
Stuck in the centre of my self obsession and pubescent stress
With all the time in the world to press on and press play
And yet the VCR doesn’t work and the DVD is about to die and I can’t quite bring myself to use the bluray
Living in the past of class and living in that fading painting as I grow and the picture of Dorian stays the same
But the joy. It’s worth the repression and forgetting.
See me sell my soul to the past