how could I forget?
My eyes open wide
and my bones broken by regret
and when worse comes to worst, when you've lost all faith,
I still count the days.
I've painted these guns from the blood in my lungs
and I feel so small.
I feel so weak.
But I still quietly whisper in the words of my sister,
"you've got to be down before you peak."
But I haven't peaked
and I never will.
I'm a dead end;
the bend in your road.
I'm the prophet of the unfulfilled.
Do you remember how my hands felt wrapped in yours?
Was it elating? Elevating?
I just don't care anymore
and I wish I were dead
or at least not so deeply disturbed in the head.
I'm sick of the heel on the back of my neck
as it stomps my face into the curb.
But I still try --
I still try, despite all the issues
I thought I left behind.
I'm alright, and I'm okay
But I can't help it,
I still count the days
And I haven't peaked,
but one day I will.
And I still forget your face,
but I'll know all to well come April.
Do you remember how your lips felt against mine?
Was it elating -- at least at the time?
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