Smear

There are marks left on erased cardboard,
Dusty jackets that accumulate years of dust,
Considering cleaning them out,
But decisions are for later dates,
Buying gum to chew once and spit out twice,
Wishing on rumors and handwritten roses,
Blasting sounds to enter, hermit-like into the only sanctuary,
Yet dimming volume when even music can’t help escape,
Not that escape was an actual option,
For feet on the ground and head in the clouds was the preference,
So caught up in firsts that lasts were ignored entirely,
Definitions and holding onto them became a menace,
And the blotted lines became ever more unclear,
I think reality caught up to me.