I Checked out a While Ago. Sorry.
The taste of you
still lingers on my tongue
and it feels like redemption
in a sick, sick way.
The words spill from my lips
between chains of cigarettes
and late night drives
that I take alone now.
The songs that use to
bounce around our damp palms
and out of our throats
don't play anymore.
Sometimes I wonder
if you, or anything,
was ever really real,
but it hurts too much
to have been a dream.
still lingers on my tongue
and it feels like redemption
in a sick, sick way.
The words spill from my lips
between chains of cigarettes
and late night drives
that I take alone now.
The songs that use to
bounce around our damp palms
and out of our throats
don't play anymore.
Sometimes I wonder
if you, or anything,
was ever really real,
but it hurts too much
to have been a dream.
♠ ♠ ♠
I haven't written anything in like 2 weeks and it feels like the seams are being torn apart one by one and I wish you hadn't gone and killed yourself, ...., because it's not the same and everyone needs you. I think I might stop writing because you made it all hurt so fucking much, the hole in my heart is being shredded and soon I just won't have one and I think maybe that will be okay.