I had friends once before
in pink punch-drunk evenings
and if you told me it might be over
I might’ve tried a little harder
to hold it close

Of course, back then, I had less to lose
weeks spent screaming, sleeping
but weekends so vibrant
camped on an abandoned train track

Evenings and friends I may not see again
burn down the tents, leave it alone
and you know I’d rather be here than home
but I cut my teeth on camped-out Fridays

I took what I needed
but look at all that I left
in charred fields


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