Suburban Asphalt

My bed hasn't seen me since the young summer sun
 Watched our cruel blood drive ahead of us
 With its hold on our wrists, cold steel and clenched
 Two years of warm moons behind us
 And I've made deep prints in the grey silt
 Standing south of the cold stream, bleeding wild
 Like the lonely weathered street that should have taken me
 I won't believe I've slept
 Because the bed I've kept is that driven pavement
 Droning lullabies that can't bring me back
 And each solstice's sun another red reminder
 Of the youth we should have had
 But gave away for the pain and the struggle of finding it on our own
 And maybe the streets aren't paved anymore
 With the dying days of our childhood
 I'll waste the sunlight tracing this pavement
 For an answer, for some feeling I almost knew
 But there's no answer from the braille of worn asphalt
 There's no response from the lines where our bones broke
 With my ear to the floor, I'll listen for a heartbeat
 But the only sound is wheels spinning free
 Overturned, eyes closed, stained red
 Our home is dead