I miss when we used to sing
the Backstreet Boys in the car together, secretly
Because you are a hipster
And I am hopelessly gothic
But that’s the bond between
Brother and sister.
I miss when we used to sit outside
On the porch roof
Hiding behind the pine tree
Smoking cigarettes and talking about
Everything we’d do once we left that lousy town
(Well I don’t miss the cigarettes
But I miss the earnestness
Of how you used to dream)
I miss who you wanted to be
And the man that is slowly replacing you
This husk, this dust-filled zombie,
This imposter
Makes me go back and listen to
The Backstreet Boys and wonder
If we will ever sing along to them again.
Etudes and Requiems 