Bloodshot Eyes (And A Sore Throat) Poem by Ynon Hermon

It is not the first time
that I have walked past that room,
and I see you there.
He plays you his best songs,
while he waits.

I stop and I listen,
it always makes me think
of someone I used to know,
of somewhere I used to go.

Now, inside that room
are bloodshot eyes,
and a sore throat.

There sits a man
who can tell you stories
as you want to hear them.
Take you back, and off the tracks
of life and the way they did occur.

So I walk inside and touch your hair.
I breath in whatever smoke that is not there.
I listen to the last notes that he plays,
before he stops and walks away.

Now, inside that room
are bloodshot eyes.