Your sleep drugged eyes flicker
with the glow from cigarette embers
that keep makin' holes in your shirt.
This nonchalant act of yours
is growing old pretty damn fast.
The tears won't stop coming,
and you're nowhere to be found.
Hug a tree for dear life,
because no one else is around.
Kill the sparkles
floating ever so high
up in your iris's
that are wanting to fly
..but I won't let them.
The ice is cracking under your words,
and I don't believe them, Darling,
but they're so pretty to watch.
The nonchalance in your voice kills,
and dying is getting old pretty damn fast.
