pantsonfire

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.