Clouds, and the ******* sun. The heatwaves leading to this foggy haze, like dreamt days, and I'm here as a shell.
Candle scents and incense and common sense, I don't have any. Like money spent, and time spent, the ******* days we slept away. If I knew, and I knew, if I only knew, I wouldn't have shut my eyes, these tears I've cried, this taste of spite, and I hate it.
I hate the way she sleeps and doesn't talk to me.
It's deafening, the silence, the panic attacks that come beckoning, leaving me a wreck, I sing. Along.
To all these sad songs, the words replace my phone, lit up by her name, and I wish, I wish
For nothing else and nothing more than time away, to be spoken for, no more, it's no more, I'm no more. Than dirt to her.
So pick myself up, to shut up, bottle it in, and march on, I'll march on.
I'm at war with myself, battles fraught in cannon fire. Ballistic projectiles, and I never smile. I haven't seen my teeth in weeks and I can't blame her for that, it's me. It's on me.
But her face is in everything, the window glass, to the balconies of the apartments my bus drives past. Familiar routes, they haven't changed, but I have.
So which way is home, can someone point me there? I'm lost, my phone's dead, and I can't even stand up.
But I'll march on, I'll march on. Infantry zest for the peace they'll bring. And so will I. I'll get there, I'll get there, with the sun in my eyes and a new cut for my hair. I'll get there.