What Never Dies
Why are you crying?
I'm just sad she would say.
Her face made my heart drop, heaviness sank the cars interior, and sat on my shoulders the moment ass hit leather.
Its sunny
Its my future bedroom, but then just the studio
She's writing a letter
My heaving heart turns into heaves of its own
Are you and dad going to get a divorce?
I don't know, maybe.
You leave the room
You don't remember saying that.
I promise you
I don't remember wrong
You do such wreck less things in my dreams, visions of my worst reality
A suspiciously close one
Even now that you're gone
It seems unfair that you can still haunt me that way.
So out of control of you.
I must have left dozens of messages
I walked inside and there it was,
Your damn phone on the counter
This is your one chicken
I delete the messages
All I hear is you, even when you don't speak
I know you're unhappy
I know you take some pleasure in it
It must hurt to walk miles in those sandy shoes, with all those blisters
Fucking take them off already
I don't care if they are your favorite
You'll never know how I felt.
Changing her diaper
Sweet, wrinkled, Jersey-Jerry tells me how much she loves my shoes.
I feel like telling her.
Saturdays and Sundays I wear the shoes she died in
Mondays Wednesdays Fridays I wear the shorts
Everyday I wear a piece of her
You'll never die.
I'd love to see the look on her face.
Remembering the week before, when she was the only version of gone that I knew seems occult
Staring at your possessions
Mothering your children
A wanton wish for a life like mine
Ha ha ha
The idea makes me laugh
How ironic
The housewife in me, feeling so,
right here! right now!
I want it!
I have it now.
I don't want children anymore.
The first time your sick and all alone,
All you need is a glass of water.
The definition of growing up
Why are you crying?
I'm just sad she would say.
Her face made my heart drop, heaviness sank the cars interior, and sat on my shoulders the moment ass hit leather.
Its sunny
Its my future bedroom, but then just the studio
She's writing a letter
My heaving heart turns into heaves of its own
Are you and dad going to get a divorce?
I don't know, maybe.
You leave the room
You don't remember saying that.
I promise you
I don't remember wrong
You do such wreck less things in my dreams, visions of my worst reality
A suspiciously close one
Even now that you're gone
It seems unfair that you can still haunt me that way.
So out of control of you.
I must have left dozens of messages
I walked inside and there it was,
Your damn phone on the counter
This is your one chicken
I delete the messages
All I hear is you, even when you don't speak
I know you're unhappy
I know you take some pleasure in it
It must hurt to walk miles in those sandy shoes, with all those blisters
Fucking take them off already
I don't care if they are your favorite
You'll never know how I felt.
Changing her diaper
Sweet, wrinkled, Jersey-Jerry tells me how much she loves my shoes.
I feel like telling her.
Saturdays and Sundays I wear the shoes she died in
Mondays Wednesdays Fridays I wear the shorts
Everyday I wear a piece of her
You'll never die.
I'd love to see the look on her face.
Remembering the week before, when she was the only version of gone that I knew seems occult
Staring at your possessions
Mothering your children
A wanton wish for a life like mine
Ha ha ha
The idea makes me laugh
How ironic
The housewife in me, feeling so,
right here! right now!
I want it!
I have it now.
I don't want children anymore.
The first time your sick and all alone,
All you need is a glass of water.
The definition of growing up