are sweet as candy
when they were younger
and sandy like lost summers

Used to be’s
make me weep
they cut the strings
of my kite
fly off
into the blood red night

Used to be’s
are held for ransom
they prance in my sleep
like lottery machines

Used to be's
don't count
as I hold them up
to the mirror
I see them clearer

Used to be's
are gone
like an old song
I can't hold onto them
they're like roving men