the better days are without music
like clean, impressionless sheets from the end of the notepad

no soundtracks hijacking my thoughts with nostalgia 
cloaking today under an outdated overcoat

no melody forcing me to the dancefloor
shoving my mood against it without my consent

no lyrics manipulating the ouija board
spelling an invitation to ghosts for company 

the better days I hear the present
and recognize the rhythm
of my breath and heart
that outlived his