Flattered that you think I warrant ugliness.
Gutters drain west, mud made a mess of us.
It's time to leave this place.
I'd saw through your wrist to find a better trap that fits.
I'd saw through your traps to find a better you.
A part of you that lasts.
I saw through your trap and into my own wrists.
Saw we were through, red ribbons spill to blue:
a sight to sore your eyes.
I got this dress.
I'm hiking it around this waste of laughter.
Slow dance alone
with no one to the sound of four hands clapping.
Congratulations
to you both, I hope somewhere you're happy.
If there's a moral
to this story, then I wish you'd show me.
Hair in the blood, fly in the disappointment.
Rubber, I'm glue. I'll write the book on you.
It's sticking to my face.
You need a little less than what you take for granted.
This is the sip that's drinking back from you,
blacking out your eyes.
You need a little more suppression of you appetites.
This is your honeymoon, in separate rooms,
it's neither sweet nor bright.
I got this dress.
I'm hiking it around this waste of laughter.
Slow dance alone
with no one to the sound of four hands clapping.
Congratulations
to you both, I hope somewhere you're happy.
If there's a moral
to this story, then I wish you'd show me.
I made a word
to give this state a name, this game a guess.
I call it "sluttering."
It means as little as your little test.
You are your
worst revenge. Your very means, they have no ends.
This is a story
you won't tell the kids we'll never have.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.
Chapters closed on that one for good.
You warrant cowardice, your own actions and lack of discretion speak volumes of your intentions and so called "feelings".
I'll never waste another night studying my ceiling on you ever again.
Good night, good luck, good riddance.
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