"Front Row Seats To The Parking Lot"

Wrote this for a friend.

“I've got my twenty ounce, and front row seats to the parking lot.
I'm on the corner now, watching them make out a lot.
I'd trade in all my pain for all your priceless pillow talk.
But I'm not too old enough, and I think I care too much.”
They shine bright under the broken street light in this parking lot.
But they just don’t know it yet.
He, he’s a great friend.
And she, she’s scared of losing that.
Waiting is a really hard game to learn, and being too scared to do something is even harder to play.
For her, both is going on.
She’s stuck somewhere between no regrets and not knowing that she has some.
Things don’t come easy with distance, especially not feelings.
And it sucks even worse finding out that gift was wrapped for you.
So she watched him fade.
Like the days that burn to the tips of a skyline.
And we watch as the tips of her eye line get moist.
I’ve got front row seats to the parking lot, and just when I bent down to get my popcorn, he was gone.
Painting himself to the wind like shadows tend to.
You can’t admire a light that’s only bright in another room.
The concrete of this one stop broken heart parking lot turned into a gravestone.
That she’s waiting to rust over.
Like chain link and barbed wire that holds her back.
A heart is a fragile thing, believe it or not, it can break at the sudden mention of a fall.
And when wind gusts choose to start f*****g around, it can get a little worried inside of a broken home.
So she gets hocked up on gun powder and picture frames.
Ready to explode into the memories she’s counting on.
Light up like fourth of July.
She would shine bring like bombs, but her candle is broken.
And he took all the replacement wax with him.
So she wilts, like a dying rose.
Waiting till he falls back to the concrete of this parking lot.
But she knows it won’t happen any time soon.
She just downs Jack and a bottle of feel good.
Liquor laced hopes spring from her smile, and you can hear his name when she laughs.
She knows one day he’ll make it home.
He’ll scraggle in on those two beat up junkyards of traveling feet, park his s**t right near the broken street light, and they can finally lay on the hood of his car, just like they always talked about before they knew the other one meant it.
But as for now...
“She’s got her twenty ounce, and front row seats to the parking lot.
She’s on the corner now, watching them make out a lot.
She’d trade in all her pain for all their priceless pillow talk.
But she’s not too old enough, and I think she cares too much.”

Reviews

[X]

WOW!! very emotional and exceedingly powerful write! it'd be killer to hear you spit again bro!